A Great Task of Solitude
by Laurielove
Summary: Hermione, years after the end of the war, takes an assignment to a house owned by a man she hoped never to see again, a man she hated. Still, in loneliness, even your enemies can provide companionship. But dark houses hold dark secrets, secrets hidden even from those entrusted to guard them. Written a while ago but now being posted here. Long LM/HG. Mature readers only, please.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a bit of a cheat. I actually wrote this story several years ago, but it has only ever been posted on one other site. Goodness knows why I never got round to posting it here, but I am now. It's one of my favourites and was written before the two Deathly Hallows films came out. As such, I'm proud of my portrayal of Lucius here as I feel it is how he would have been left after we see him in those films - a broken man, rejected by all. Most people say the thought of a relationship between Hermione and Lucius is ridiculous, but I truly believe that if an intelligent, sensitive woman like Hermione found this man as he was, she would instinctively be moved and fascinated by his circumstances, and from that, an attraction could form. This story is close to me as I feel that, if they were indeed to fall for each other, it would most likely be in a situation like this. But it's not all plain sailing, as you will see as the story develops. **

**Note: I've transferred it here virtually unedited. I've changed as a writer since this. Please excuse any errors or failings!**

**Enjoy. LL x**

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A light drizzle filled the air as the solitary female figure trudged home. The pavement under her feet was wet, glistening with the rain that had been falling steadily all afternoon. The garish lights of London reflected off the streets, bringing an almost apologetic radiance to the otherwise dismal evening.

The woman kept her head down as she walked, purposeful in her determination to put the day behind her and get home. Not that getting home was something she was particularly looking forward to. At best, she would be met by a food-demanding miaow from Ermintrude, her Maine Coon, at worst, the stark dark silence of a barren flat.

She did not notice the myriad of nameless people passing by as she walked, equally desperate to propel themselves to their destination, collars pulled up, scarves wrapped around faces, providing protection not only from the elements, but from human interaction.

Hermione Granger at last reached home. For the benefit of the Muggles she lived beside, she made the effort of getting out her key and turning it in the lock. She did not mind. Life within the magical world had been so claustrophobically stultifying of late, that she enjoyed being reminded of her Muggle heritage.

She had recently celebrated, if that was the word, the tenth anniversary of her work for the Ministry. She had been promoted early on to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had initially enjoyed her role, rising swiftly to work at the Minister's side to promote positive magical behaviour within wizarding and Muggle communities. But since the war, the threat from dark forces had dwindled to such an extent, that Hermione, despite the secure advantages it brought, felt almost bored with the state of affairs. The fact that the anniversary of her Ministry appointment coincided neatly with her thirtieth birthday merely added to her malaise.

The few moments of interest arose simply from the persistence of the prejudice and divisions of old. Although they would never admit to it openly, it was known that many pureblood families still clung to the old beliefs, still abhorred Muggles and Muggleborns. The tenuous truce which existed had largely been maintained, but on the rare occasions tensions had threatened to bubble over, Hermione had found herself becoming stupidly excited.

What is more, in her desperate attempt to fill her days with something worthwhile, something to enthuse her spirit, she found herself working from early morning until late, day after day, searching through documents, quizzing colleagues for the merest hint of intrigue. She knew she had become a workaholic. What else did she have?

Her relationship with Ron had foundered early on, after only a year. They had quickly discovered their incompatibility; intellectually, emotionally, and although neither admitted it, sexually. They remained good friends, and Hermione had dated a few times since, but after Ron she was overly cautious, knowing that she needed someone who could satisfy the complexity within. Nobody had come close.

She shut the door wearily behind her, and pulled off her wet coat, hanging it up. Shuffling into the kitchen, she opened the fridge. Nothing. It would be baked beans on toast again. _At some point, she really should go to a supermarket._ Luckily, there was half a bottle of white wine. She took it out with a sigh and poured herself a large glass before slumping into a chair. After a few sips, she reached across to some work which lay on a table beside her, but stopped.

_God, this had to change. She could not continue without any life whatsoever._

Next to the work lay a book she had been meaning to read for enjoyment for some time. She picked it up instead, and opened it, staring intently at the pages in an attempt to convince herself that she was relaxing.

She had just started to get into the book when there was a sharp tapping at her window. Hermione recognised the distinctive sound of an owl's beak. Crossing to the window, she opened it and the bird hopped onto the window sill, a parchment clutched in its talons. It was a Ministry owl. Immediately a surge of excitement swept through her. What was so important that the Ministry was trying to contact her now?

She carefully took the parchment proffered by the owl and shut the window again after it had fluttered off.

She uncurled the scroll and read.

"_Hermione,_

_I am sorry to have missed you earlier, but wanted to notify you before you came into work tomorrow._

_I have arranged a meeting with you at 9 am to discuss an issue I have been trying to resolve for some time. Please come to see me as soon as you arrive._

_Many thanks._

_Kingsley"_

Hermione frowned. The parchment gave her nothing to do now, and provided little information besides expressing some urgency that she attend the meeting.

She thought little more of it, disappointed that it had not contained more tantalising information, and returned to her book.

The message from Shacklebolt had done so little to fire her interest, that she almost forgot to go to his office at the designated time. It was only at two minutes to nine that an owl, similar to the one from the previous evening, fluttered past her window, reminding her with a start where she was supposed to be. Abandoning her desk with a flurry, she rushed up to Shacklebolt's office and arrived there with seconds to spare.

The Minister for Magic looked up, a broad smile breaking out on his face when he saw the witch at his door.

"Hermione! Thanks for coming. Sorry I sent you that owl last night. I'd hoped to catch you before you left, but found myself snowed under as usual. How are you? Sit down."

Hermione sat forward in the chair he indicated, wanting him to tell her quickly the reason for his request to see her. "Fine, Minister, thank you. What is this all about?"

"Right, umm." Kingsley shifted in his seat, suddenly seeming unsure of what to say. "I was wondering if you could help me out. I have been compiling an inventory, shall we say, of all wizarding books relating to the Dark Arts. Many of them had to be destroyed after the war, as they were too - incendiary. But there are many more which are still valuable documents and, despite their dangerous content, need to be maintained and – contained, I suppose. If we know where these books are, we can at least document them and keep an eye on them. I have managed to account for all books in public libraries and places such as Hogwarts, and most in private hands, but there is one place which we know contains many volumes, but which I have been unable to get to."

"Why not?"

"The owner has been quite reclusive since the war – disappearing from society for some time. He still only emerges rarely. In addition to his reputation being left in tatters in the aftermath of the war, his marriage broke down; something which I believe affected him very badly, resulting in his further withdrawal. He was largely shunned by many of his former acquaintances, friends and enemies, after what happened under Voldemort. That's one of the reasons we have been unable to get into his house. Nobody wants to go. Nobody wants to be associated, even professionally, with the man. And he trusts no one, it seems."

"Why was he shunned by society?"

Shacklebolt looked at her cautiously. "He was a Death Eater."

Realisation was dawning. She suspected she knew who this man was; a former Death Eater, a broken marriage, a private library. Her suspicions were confirmed when Kingsley spoke a moment later.

"Hermione – it's Lucius Malfoy."

Hermione sat in silence for a while. Shacklebolt had not yet asked her what she knew he was about to ask. She tensed and inquired tersely, "And where do I fit into all this?"

Shacklebolt chuckled nervously, holding his hands up in a gesture of confused need. "Well, you are my last hope really. I need these books documented. I was wondering if you might be willing to – go to Malfoy Manor and register them."

His request was not a surprise, but Hermione could not help the indignation brewing up inside her. She spoke coldly.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"You want me to go to Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes."

After a heavy silence where Hermione simply stared at him, she said sternly, "Minister. Do you know what happened to me the last time I went to Malfoy Manor?"

Shacklebolt swallowed hard. This was not going as well as he had hoped.

"Yes, I'm sorry, I just hoped, thought ..."

"I was tortured." She spoke clinically.

Shacklebolt could no longer look at her.

"I was tortured in Lucius Malfoy's house while he looked on."

At length, the Minister finally met her eyes, and drew himself up. "Hermione, if anyone can meet this challenge, it is you. Nobody else with the skills necessary will even contemplate going. I know the place holds bad memories for you – but time has passed – you've moved on, I know you have. And Lucius Malfoy certainly has ... changed, believe me. And in any case, the library at Malfoy Manor is supposedly vast, full of fascinating, rare volumes. I thought you would ... enjoy the opportunity to explore it."

Hermione sat, as indignant as possible, but knew in her heart that the prospect sounded intriguing. She had been desperate to get her teeth into something. Was this it? Kingsley was right, time had passed. It was nearly twelve years since that fateful night of torture at Bellatrix Lestrange's hands. Although returning to the site of it would be deeply disturbing, she knew she could do it. Still, there would certainly be many problems to overcome. She turned sharply to the Minister.

"And why on earth do you think he is going to let me, of all people, in. Do you know what I am in his eyes?"

"Yes."

"What?" She was daring him to voice it.

"A Muggleborn."

"Not quite, Kingsley - a _Mudblood_, a dirty, filthy, Mudblood. Do you really think he'd let me within ten miles of the place?"

"I am hoping he may accept you into his house due to a combination of – intrigue and respect."

"_Respect?!"_

"Yes, Hermione – you are renowned throughout the Wizarding World - still. You are, after all, the brightest witch of your age." He chuckled a little to try to diffuse the tension.

Hermione crossed her arms and glared at him. If she had a penny for every time someone had said that in an attempt to win her over...

Shacklebolt held her gaze. "Anyway, Malfoy has to comply with this. He has been monitored carefully since the war. Harry's exoneration of him was accepted with several provisos. He has no option but to accept whomever we send. If he doesn't, he will suffer the consequences. It is not _his_ acceptance I am worried about particularly. He really has no choice. The trouble is, I have run out of options at this end. No one will go. I need you, Hermione. I am asking you this, not only as an employer, but also as a friend."

He looked at her seriously. She sighed deeply. "He may not have a choice, but I get the feeling that I don't either."

Shacklebolt remained silent. They sat, waiting for the other to break the tense atmosphere. It was Hermione who at last spoke.

"I will go, but I cannot believe he'll tolerate me."

Kingsley smiled gratefully at her. "Thank you."

"When do you want me to start?"

"As soon as possible. These last books need to be documented. The list is nearly complete. I want to present it finally to the Wizengamot at the next session. It will reassure them further that we live in a secure world."

"Am I to remove any books you, or I, consider to be particularly threatening?"

"Not necessarily. I will leave that to you. There is no need to deprive him of his possessions unless you consider there to be a significant and real danger. Simply knowing of their existence will suffice in most cases."

Hermione looked away, a small furrow of concern knitting her forehead. "I'm not comfortable with this, Minister."

"I know, Hermione. But – I wouldn't send you there if I thought you would be put in any danger. Malfoy knows he must behave impeccably or he will be thrown back into Azkaban for the rest of his life. As I said, I hope you'll actually get a lot out of working there."

She tried not to look convinced, but Hermione knew deep down he was right. She could not ignore the tingle of excitement that was starting to creep into her limbs.

Shacklebolt stood. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm going to have to go. I have a meeting at Gringott's to get to. I will owl Malfoy and tell him to expect you ... on Monday, shall we say?"

Hermione looked at him in some shock. It was already Thursday. Shacklebolt clearly did want to get on with this. She stood and with a resigned sigh, confirmed it. "Alright. Unless I hear otherwise, I'll be at Malfoy Manor on Monday afternoon, two o'clock. I can't go earlier as I have a meeting in the morning."

"That's fine." He ushered her out. "Thank you again, Hermione. I am sure we will be able to reimburse you handsomely for your efforts."

Hermione cringed a little. Money was not going to make this task any easier to burden.

She spent the next few days in a state of some confusion. Surely she had not just agreed to spend time in the home of a man she had detested and reviled, with the best of reasons, for most of her life? Strangely, although she had seen him when she was much older, it was her first encounter with him, as a twelve year old in Flourish and Blotts, that stuck with her the most; his haughty appraisal of her, his disdainful words. She felt anger bubbling up inside her once again, despite the lengthy passage of time.

On that day, now so many years ago, her childish indignation had been piqued and she had held her nerve, glaring as forcefully at him as she could muster. She knew it had further riled his animosity towards her. She could not believe time had soothed his emotions at all. She represented to him all he abhorred. How he was going to tolerate her presence in his house concerned her. She would not be able to work in an atmosphere of bitter hatred. It would be bad enough to control her emotions, without having to contend with searing antagonism from him.

And yet, despite her misgivings, Hermione had been set a task, and with her usual conscientious and assiduous manner, she prepared thoroughly, and on Monday at five to two, took hold of her wand, muttered the familiar words, and apparated to Malfoy Manor.

She landed dizzily outside the gates. The high leaded windows of the Elizabethan house blinked down at her. Luckily, the memory from that night she had been brought here all those years ago had blurred and she did not recognise it from that time. In fact, she could not help but admire the noble structure. It was a beautiful building, one of the finest examples of architecture of the period still surviving she guessed, although she knew it would be invisible to Muggles, or at least appear derelict. There were rumours that Elizabeth I herself was in fact a witch, as was her mother Anne Boleyn. The Queen apparently had significant magical ability, but due to her position, born into the highest echelons of Muggle society, had kept her talents hidden. Still, it was thought she occasionally visited noble wizarding families. Perhaps she herself had visited this place. Hermione felt a frisson of excitement run swiftly up her spine.

Drawing herself up, she walked towards the gates, wondering how she should gain access. She need not have worried, as on approaching them, they swung open for her. She noted with surprise that the paint was peeling somewhat, and the hinges appeared rusty.

Hermione began the long walk up the gravelled drive, her footsteps crunching as she went. She wished they would not.

The lawns leading to the entrance were cut short, but there were no plants, and the borders needed trimming. Large pots stood empty of flowers, and moss grew on the heads of two stone lions guarding the approach to the house.

Hermione at last found herself at the huge front door. A sudden fear took hold of her. She had not before felt intimidated by the task, but now she thought herself rather inadequate to be standing here. She raised herself tall, and shook off the notion. _She was Hermione Granger for goodness sake. She could cope with anything._

She reached over and rang the bell strongly.

At first, nothing happened. Hermione felt a ball of tension forming deep inside. What if he would not even acknowledge her arrival? She didn't want to go back to Shacklebolt and tell him she hadn't even been let in.

She rang the bell again.

Nothing.

And then, after what seemed several minutes, there was a loud clunk from behind the door. And then another, and another, as if several large bolts were being drawn back.

Slowly, with a heaving groan, the door opened.

Hermione looked down to see a house-elf staring disdainfully up at her. The elf was dressed in proper clothes, but they were shabby and threadbare, as if they had once been good quality, but had been worn so often as to render them virtually into tatters.

The elf had a thin, pinched face, and reminded Hermione of a younger version of Kreacher, both in manner and appearance.

It did not speak.

"Good afternoon. My name is Hermione Granger. I am here to see Mr Malfoy."

At first the elf merely continued looking at her, an undisguised expression of outright hatred on its face. Hermione was undeterred. She stood looking down at him, not flinching from his bitter appraisal of her. At length, still not talking, he simply stepped aside for her to enter.

She did so.

She stepped into a hallway, so dark and gloomy that her eyes at first did not allow her to focus on any details. But as they grew accustomed to the dimness, she could make out the heavy dark oak panelling, the carved staircase, portraits of long-dead wizards adorning the walls. But as with the exterior, the inside of the house had an air of noble neglect about it. Several cobwebs hung from dark corners. A shaft of light pierced the gloom from the window at the top of the stairs. Thick dust danced frantically within it. Hermione took in a deep breath. The house smelt musty, stale, as if no proper life had moved through it for an age.

The elf shuffled ahead of her, still not talking. She followed it through to a door far down the hall, tucked away in the corner. It led into a large sitting room, almost empty save for a high-backed chair and a side table near a fire at the far side. The chair faced into the fire, which was blazing away relentlessly.

The elf brought her just inside the room, then turned and pointed sharply at the floor, indicating for her to wait there. She did so. It moved further into the room and approached the chair. Hermione had not noticed anyone sitting in it, but on closer inspection, could see one long-fingered hand resting on the arm. The elf leaned into the chair and whispered to the person seated in it, the sneer deepening on its features as it spoke.

Hermione swallowed hard. She could not deny the nerves jangling within her. She inhaled sharply, trying to fortify her resolve. _She must not let this get to her. She had a job to do and she would do it._

The elf finished his conversation and shuffled over to her, passing her without a glance and leaving the room before shutting the door firmly behind him. Hermione's stomach flipped. She suddenly felt ridiculously vulnerable and young again. An image flicked into her mind. It was that of a young girl writhing in agony as her body was subjected to the most excruciating pain imaginable. The young girl was her, in this house.

"Miss Granger."

She almost jumped. The low voice sounded from the chair, but said no more. Hermione stared across. The hand on the arm rose into the air, and with smooth precision the forefinger and middle finger beckoned her over.

She walked across towards him, slowly, each footstep reluctant in its momentum. She could not ignore the constant churning of her stomach now. It threatened to make her sick.

Hermione stopped just beside the chair, still unable to see the figure within it.

"Closer." The low drawl was familiar to her, but she could not argue with its cold insistence.

She took some more steps forward until she was in front of the chair. Then turning, she looked down at its occupant.

Lucius Malfoy was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, before her. His face was impassive, his eyes staring up at her, the deep grey sparking with reflected firelight. His mouth was set straight.

Hermione almost gasped with the sudden awareness of who she was looking at. She had not seen him since his trial, over ten years ago. His face had not aged greatly in that time, she thought, but he seemed thinner. His cheekbones were sharp, his face pale. He still had his mane of blond hair, but it seemed less vibrant than she recalled, and she suspected its lustre had been tamed by streaks of grey. His patrician features remained, but they were more strained, withdrawn. It came as a surprise to Hermione. Although he still studied her with haughty disdain, the effortless arrogance he had always carried with him in the past, seemed to have been dulled.

She had not spoken, had been unable to. She realised with shame that she was breathing deeply, obviously, her chest rising and falling heavily before him. Concentrating to steady it, she still could not speak. The silence was broken by him.

"So here you are - come to classify, chronicle and catalogue me."

At last she found her voice. "I am merely fulfilling the task required of me by the Ministry, Mr Malfoy. Every book of this type in the country is being catalogued."

"So you do not wish to be here anymore than I wish you to be here?" His cold query made her tense.

_Why should she give him anything?_

"No."

He continued to look up at her. Hermione held his gaze. She could not detect hatred as such in his eyes, in fact, they struck her as holding an expression of curiosity, but there was certainly no warmth there. No humanity even. That unnerved her more than anything.

"Please may I see the library?" She had to say something, the tension was becoming unbearable.

He looked away from her, and took a sip from a crystal glass he held in his other hand. He made no move to humour her request.

Hermione grew frustrated. "Mr Malfoy. The sooner, I begin, the sooner I can finish and be gone from here. I'm sure that will please us both."

He turned his head slowly to look at her again. She thought this time she could detect a dance of amusement in the grey eyes. "And just how long do you think this task of yours is going to take, Miss Granger?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. A few hours. I will try to be finished by dusk."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a smirk. "In that case, perhaps you should indeed see my library now."

Replacing the glass upon the table, he pushed himself up from the chair. Hermione swayed back a little; he was taller than she had remembered. Despite his advancing years, the effect of which, Hermione admitted, was not that noticeable in any case, his physical presence was still impressive. He was broad, lithe, and she noticed an aroma of spice as he stood before her. Malfoy looked down, the smirk which had played on his mouth a moment before, now gone. The coldness had returned. Hermione took an instinctive step back.

"Come," he said sharply and walked swiftly towards the door, throwing it open and sweeping out. She quickly recovered her senses and followed him, almost at a run.

He was going upstairs, his long legs bearing him up swiftly. Hermione had to rush to keep up. On reaching the landing, he moved down a corridor, before coming to a door set apart from any others. He stopped and waited for her to catch up, then fixing her eyes with his once again, he turned the handle and opened it, holding it for her to step through.

Hermione almost passed out. It was the largest room she had ever been in within a private house. That alone was extraordinary, but what made her reel with amazement, was the fact that every inch of wall space, from floor to ceiling, was filled with books. In addition to that, bookcases filled the space in between, once again reaching the full height of the room, every one crammed with leather bound volumes and rolls of parchment. It was at least as big as the library at Hogwarts, and rivalled that of the Ministry. She did not think she had ever seen so many books in one place before. She reached behind to grasp the doorframe for support.

Lucius Malfoy was standing beside her, the faint smile back on his lips. "Finishing before dusk, Miss Granger? A tad on the optimistic side, I think. Don't you?"

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**More very soon. x (And, no, I haven't forgotten about Entrancing Wendy. And the usual join me on facebook - Laurielove - and check out my original Demelza Hart stories on Amazon etc invitations still hold.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Glad you're enjoying this. Thanks so much for the reviews and comments. It's a slow-burn, I'm warning you ... but worth it. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed writing it. I'm enjoying rediscovering it again while posting.**

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Hermione continued to stand open-mouthed in the doorway. Her mind was a whirl. The sight before her thrilled and excited her. She could not wait to rush in and pull a volume off the shelf to pour over its contents. But intermingled with the excitement was the realisation of the magnitude of her task which made her reel. To fulfil the requirements properly would take days, weeks even. She had thought she would only have to stay a few hours.

"Do ... do you have a specific section devoted to the Dark Arts?" she stammered out in an attempt to bring some order to the scale of what she had to achieve.

"Not as such. The books are scattered randomly. The Malfoys know how the system works, but anyone else, especially ..." He paused in his sneering drawl. She knew what he was referring to. "... will find it ... confusing. You will simply have to trawl through the entire collection." Hermione drew in a deep but silent breath, not wanting to show him her dread. He smirked. "Too much, Miss Granger? It seems you will have to return to the Minister and inform him you are not capable."

She spun to him, her eyes flashing with indignation. "I shall do no such thing, Mr Malfoy. By law, these books have to be documented. Yours is the last library to be examined. It has to be done. And I am here to do it."

He held her gaze, coolly taking in the sight before him. At length one of his eyebrows rose amidst a twist of terse disdain on his alabaster features. "Very well. You had better get started straight away then, hadn't you? I shall leave you to your duty." He drew himself up, looking down his nose at her, his eyes cold and hard.

Her breathing steadied somewhat, but she held his stare defiantly. She thought she saw a flinch at the corner of his mouth. Malfoy turned towards the door, then stopped and looked back at her. "I suppose you will have to call Grimble should you require anything." It was said grudgingly. With that he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Hermione exhaled long and deep, her eyes shutting. She fell back against the door and slumped down onto the floor. At length, she pulled her head up and looked into the vast room. The bookshelves loomed above her, towering threateningly, row upon row, shelf upon shelf. If it had been in any other house, this would be her idea of heaven – shut alone in a private library. But this wasn't any house; this was Malfoy Manor.

She pushed herself to her feet and walked slowly around the shelves, her fingers running tentatively over the ancient books. As she walked, her fears subsided. At least he was leaving her in peace to go about her task. She was surprised he insisted on no requirements, no conditions. Perhaps Kingsley had threatened him to comply. Her eyes fell on a particular volume. It was not related to the Dark Arts, but Hermione knew it to be an ancient and rare text. She took it from the shelf gently and opened the heavy book, the thick, yellowing pages falling open in her hands. It was written in a beautiful, meticulous hand, with diagrams and illustrations relating to invisibility charms. She placed it back carefully, and took down another. This was about the earliest cases of witchcraft trials in Europe and how they had forced magical people into hiding; all fascinating to Hermione who read on, entranced. _Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all._

Hermione stayed in the library for some time, the minutes slipping away unobtrusively. At length, she pulled herself back to her surroundings long enough to glance at her watch. Two hours had passed. She had found two volumes documenting the use of the Dark Arts in the Middle Ages, but they were not of concern. She wrote down the details carefully. In the time, she had managed to go through one row of books on a single bottom shelf. There were thousands to go. She sighed deeply. She had enjoyed the process, loved it even, but getting through all these books would take an age. And many of them would require far more careful perusal than the ones she had just been through. She realised regrettably that she would be returning to the Manor for several weeks.

Hermione sat back against the bookcase opposite and swallowed. Her throat throbbed with raw dryness. She was incredibly thirsty. Reaching for her wand, she tried to summon a bottle of water but found herself unable to do so. She tried other spells, anything to produce a drink; nothing worked. Was it because of her location? Most likely the manor was protected by certain charms and wards.

Sighing deeply, she wondered if she could continue without a drink. But she could also feel a headache brewing and knew she needed rehydrating. She stood wearily. She would have to ask for one.

Crossing to the door, Hermione opened it and stepped out into the dark corridor. The oppressive silence hit her immediately. The hallway was almost black, and she hurried along to the staircase, the only source of light. She noted that many windows had been boarded up along the high walls. On reaching the staircase she hesitated. The house was still, save for the low ticking of a large grandfather clock from the hall below. She didn't have a clue where to go to find the elf. She was not even sure he would acknowledge her presence if she did find him.

Hermione crept down the staircase. There was no logical need for her to be silent, but she instinctively felt a heavy closeness which she could not break. As she descended, she knew her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She almost longed to return to the library. At least among books she felt at home. She reached the bottom of the staircase. There was no indication of anyone around.

"Hello?" she called as loudly as she could, knowing that in fact it was an ineffective little whimper.

She took a few steps around, aware that she was actually tiptoeing. Standing tall, she tried to be more forceful, calling more loudly, "Hello? Grimble?"

No response. There was still a glow coming from the room she had met Malfoy in earlier. She thought she had better try in there. As her hand raised to open the door, she noticed her fingers shaking. She clenched her fist, desperate to steady her nerves. _This was ridiculous._

At last she opened the door.

"Hello? Grimble? Mr Malfoy?"

She walked over to the chair he had been sitting in earlier. It was now empty, as was the rest of the room. Hermione sighed deeply. _Now what?_

She walked out into the hallway and tried down a long corridor, calling as bravely as she could every so often.

Reaching a door that looked as if it might lead to the kitchen, she placed her hand on the doorknob, but before she could open it, there was a deep, but sharp voice behind her.

"What is it you want?"

She jumped, gasping in shock and spinning around, her hand clutched to her chest. Lucius Malfoy was standing behind her in the gloom, his tall frame looming large and ominous.

"I'm sorry. I was just ... I was looking for your house-elf."

"For what?" The words were spat out.

"I'm thirsty. I was just wondering if I could get a glass of water? Please."

At first he did not move or respond. Hermione could tell his body was rigid, tense, as if wrestling with a desperate dilemma.

"Grimble is no longer on duty."

He still stood before her, motionless. She was still thirsty. "I see."

There was silence. Neither moved.

"Do you mind showing me where I could get a glass and a drink?"

She heard him inhale. Hermione could not see his face clearly, but could tell by his posture that he was finding the situation hard.

After another pause, he at last responded, although it was clearly paining him to do so. "Very well. Follow me."

He swept past her further along the corridor. Again, she had to run to keep up. At last they came to a door. It opened into a vast kitchen, hung with copper pots and pans. A huge fireplace stood at one end of the room, big enough to roast a calf in. Hermione could not stop gaping in astonishment. Malfoy did not take in her reaction. He walked swiftly to a cupboard and produced a glass which he placed near the sink.

"There you are," he said, indicating the tap.

Hermione sighed, partially with relief that she could finally assuage her thirst, partially through frustration at his inability to relax even the slightest. She crossed to the sink and took the glass. "Thank you."

He stepped away from her, standing rather awkwardly to the side. She turned on the tap, letting it run before filling the glass. After taking a long drink, she then topped it up.

Turning back to him, she was not sure what to say or do. Her mouth twitched inadvertently into a begrudging smile. "Thank you again. I won't stay much longer today. I'll take this back up with me."

"No." His voice was harsh. "I do not want drink in the library. It may get spilt."

She stopped. She knew she would want some more. "Right. OK." Further silence. "Could I sit here for a moment then?"

Malfoy's eyes looked away, a vague confused frown creasing his high forehead. Her request clearly unsettled him. Could he abide this woman in his kitchen any longer?

Hermione could tell his breathing was growing more rapid and she thought he would decline her request. Then, suddenly, he moved to the table and pulled out a chair for her.

She was taken aback and took a while to move, then walked carefully to the chair and sat, taking another drink from the glass.

Malfoy did not sit, but neither did he move. He stood slightly apart from her. She dared not look up, but she could tell he was staring at her. She swallowed hard. His presence did not disturb her as such, but his manner did. She felt it was right to ask him to join her, not that she particularly wanted to, but her sense of decency did not permit her to leave someone standing. She glanced up at him. "Do you want to sit down?"

His eyes shot to hers, his mouth breaking into such a bitter sneer that her stomach jolted with nausea.

"I do not need an invitation from you to sit down in my own home, Miss Granger."

She lowered her eyes, her face flushing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She could feel him bristling next to her, his heated anger emanating towards her. And then, in a move which made her jump in shock, he pulled out another chair and sat abruptly.

Hermione quickly took a sip of water.

Again, silence. A clock ticked on the wall behind her. She could not bear the tension. Her voice broke awkwardly through the emptiness.

"You have an extraordinary collection of books. I have never heard of most of them."

He did not at first respond, but had turned his head to study her. "Never heard of them, Miss Granger? I hope you have sufficient knowledge to fulfil your assignment adequately?" His snide tones riled her. She could not help but glare at him.

"Of course. I read quickly. I can soon form an impression of the content of a text and decide what action needs to be taken."

He sniffed. "And what exactly do you imagine you will find within the walls of this house? Anything ... _inflammatory?"_

"Let's hope not, Mr Malfoy. As you know, it has always been illegal to keep especially seditious documents. I'm sure you would have disposed of any you may have had many years ago."

He sneered again.

"I am not here to police, Mr Malfoy. I am simply here to document. I have to say, your library is fascinating. It is a privilege for me to be able to spend some time in it." She surprised herself at the generous nature of her words. Malfoy looked equally astonished. His eyebrows rose and his expression softened. What Hermione said next surprised them both even more.

"How is your son?"

At first, Malfoy was too amazed to respond. He looked away and with a low drawl replied, "I had not thought the welfare of my son would be of the slightest interest to you, Miss Granger."

Hermione sighed. It was infuriating trying to conduct a conversation with him. Why was she bothering? She said with terse dryness, "Perhaps it isn't. Perhaps I was just trying to make polite conversation."

Malfoy shot her a glare. "My son is well. He has a good job and a wife."

She found his brief words odd, even for him. "Does he come here very often?"

Hermione could tell she had angered him instantly. His nostrils flared and his eyes flamed into her. His fingers came up to grip the surface of the table and he leaned in, his breath propelling his words out sharply. "I suggest, Miss Granger, that you keep your prying little Muggle-born tongue firmly inside your mouth, where it belongs."

With that he grabbed her glass from her and crossed to the sink, tipping its contents abruptly into it. He strode back and stood tall before her. "You may stay another half an hour. Go back upstairs now."

Hermione thought she may be sick. How had she been so stupid as to think she could enter into any sort of normal dialogue with him? His insult in itself did not upset her, but her naivety in thinking she could converse with him struck her hard.

She stood, visibly shaken, and hurried from the room, rushing up the stairs and shutting herself in the library. She did not want to stay one more second, but dared not argue with him or confront him again.

Over the next thirty minutes she tried to focus on the books before her, but was simply willing time to pass. It did so agonisingly slowly.

At last, half an hour went by. Hermione rushed from the library, ensuring everything had been put back exactly as she had found it, and went downstairs.

Malfoy was already standing in the hallway, his body as rigid as ever, waiting for her to go. She could hardly bring herself to look at him. She moved to the door, but knew she would have to say something.

"I will have to come back in the next few days, and for a while actually. It will take me some time to complete my work."

His face flinched.

"Perhaps you could send me or the Minister a list of times which are convenient for you, or when you will be here."

He did not reply, and she turned for the door again.

"I am always here."

Malfoy's voice travelled across to her like an arrow. She looked back at him. The tall figure standing in the darkness of his vast house suddenly seemed to her a very lonely sight. Her perception of him in the kitchen was tempered somewhat.

"I may have some time to come tomorrow." If she did find time, she would have to come; there was so much to do. She thought he may well reject her suggestion. She waited for his anger. Instead, he looked steadily at her, then, to Hermione's amazement, simply inclined his head in acceptance.

She swayed a little in surprise, then swiftly opened the door and left.

* * *

**More tomorrow. LL x**


	3. Chapter 3

**A nice long chapter for you. How are these two going to dance around each other? Do they even want to? Thanks for the reviews and apologies for not replying individually. All your comments are read and appreciated.**

* * *

Hermione returned to her flat. She opened the door and Ermintrude immediately wrapped herself around her legs in welcome. Hermione smiled and leaned down to stroke her cat's thick fur. "Hello, girl. Shall we see what we've got for your supper?"

After opening a pouch of Whiskas for the cat and pouring herself a glass of wine, Hermione fell onto the sofa. For once, she had no desire to reach for any work. Instead she turned on the TV and flicked through the channels. Her mind ached. She needed to relax, tune out. The news was on, and she stared at the screen, trying to take it in on board. She did not.

Instead, her mind went over the events of the day. Had she expected Malfoy to be at all welcoming to her? Had she wanted it? She was as disdainful of him as he of her. Still, she found it hard, no matter what the circumstances, to be completely rude to someone, and his resistance had riled her. If she was willing to tolerate him, she expected him to be the same. She shook her head. It was a foolish notion. He would never see her as anything but a dirty Muggle-born. And he was still a bigoted former Death Eater. She must just complete her job and get out.

Hermione sighed. It was going to take a long time to achieve that. But at least she had parted from Malfoy reasonably peacefully. She recalled the image of him standing in the hallway as she had left. Stroking Ermintrude gently, she looked around her empty flat. Their similarities hit home sharply. He wasn't the only one existing in dark solitude. She took a long drink of Rioja.

Why had her question about Draco upset him so much? Did the younger Malfoy really not visit the Manor very often? Had something happened between father and son? And how did Narcissa fit into all this? Why had the marriage failed? They had always seemed so close. And the house was so bleak, dark, as if it too was trying to hide away from the world. It had been in a state of some neglect, not through lack of funds, Hermione felt, but due to an apparent lack of care. That was not how she remembered Lucius Malfoy of old. What had brought about the change? Her mind burned with its usual fervent curiosity.

_That would not do at all._ Why should she be remotely interested in the state Lucius Malfoy now found himself in?

Hermione tried to focus back on the TV. She was spending far too long thinking about a family and a man she reviled. She resented the fact that it was dominating her mind and emotions so much. She changed channels. There was a satirical quiz show on, as far removed from the claustrophobic fug of Malfoy Manor as could be. Her mind eased somewhat. Settling down, she snuggled into the cat, and pushed all thoughts of Lucius Malfoy out of her mind. He wouldn't be concerned about her; why should she waste time thinking about him?

* * *

After the woman had gone, Lucius retreated to the solitude of the sitting room, shutting the door behind him and finding comfort in a glass of firewhisky.

The Minister for Magic had made it abundantly clear that he must accept and tolerate whomever was sent to carry out the documenting of his library. When he had discovered who that was, he had briefly contemplated whether a sojourn in Azkaban would in fact be preferable. He sniffed derisively and took a long drag of the amber liquid.

_No. Perhaps that was a slight over-reaction._

The woman's presence in his home had not been as unbearable as he had anticipated. He had at first wondered if he would even be able to say a word to her after all that had occurred over the years. But when the moment came, he found he had been remarkably equable, to the extent of being impressed with his own behaviour. A sneer crossed his face. What did it matter how he felt?

Malfoy stared into the fire. He could not deny that his mind was replaying the events of the afternoon. He had expected the woman to be overbearing. She was not. She clearly wanted to get on with her job, finish and get out. That suited him perfectly. However, he had known from the start that she had a monumental task before her. His mind fogged as he contemplated it. It would mean her returning to his home for some time.

Did he recoil with revulsion at the thought? He should, should he not? Initially, he had, but now, after her visit, he found himself feeling remarkably neutral about the whole thing.

When he had found the girl searching through his house for a drink, it had frustrated him. Had it angered him? Yes, but not through grievance, merely annoyance. He did not like the idea of her deciding what to do in his home. As long as he could control her within it, he thought perhaps he could tolerate her presence. But he had been remarkably hospitable when she had asked for a glass of water. He could simply have denied her one. And yet his deep seated need for order and decorum had propelled him to feel obliged to provide her with a drink.

_Even Muggle-borns get thirsty._

But she had overstepped the mark. She had inquired about Draco. He admitted that her first enquiry had appealed to him somewhat – it was almost a deferential gesture to the Malfoys. That was how it should be. But then, she had asked more. He took another sip. She had touched a nerve. _She must be careful what she says._

But even through his seething fury, he was once again remarkably restrained in his response. By the time she had descended the stairs to leave, he had taken stock of the situation. It had been curious having someone in his home again, his home which now lay so empty, a home which had for so many years pulsed with life and vitality. Malfoy Manor had been the centre of the wizarding social scene – throbbing with a lifeblood of luxurious pleasures and delights. No longer. _After all that had been,_ _he was quite content with that._

He closed his eyes. An image of the woman materialised in his mind - a picture of her descending the stairs before leaving. She seemed younger than her thirty years. Her eyes held a light, a burning curiosity which flickered over all she beheld. He sensed her apprehension in his presence, but she had concealed it well, overcome it even. Did he admire that? He took another long draft from his drink, sucking it through his teeth in disgust at the notion. He inhaled deeply. There was a faint lingering aroma, not unpleasant, in the air. It was not a scent he associated with his house. He knew what it must be. It must be her.

Malfoy turned his head sharply up, as if trying to eradicate the persistent smell which tingled in his nostrils. Tomorrow she would return, bringing her dancing eyes and her fresh perfume with her once again.

He threw the remnants of the glass down his throat and stood to retire to bed.

Although he did not admit it, Lucius Malfoy went to sleep without the same sense of dread that he had had the previous day.

* * *

Hermione arrived early for work and consulted her diary. Once again, she had some free time in the afternoon. She would check with Kingsley and see if she could get to Malfoy Manor to try to wade through a few more shelves. Part of her leapt with excitement at the thought of spending more time in the library, but she developed also a throbbing ache in her belly at the realisation that she would be returning to the dark oppression of the house, and the bitter antagonism of him. She made her way to the Minister's office and popped in for a chat.

"Hi, Hermione. I was going to come and see you. How did yesterday go?" Shacklebolt sounded apprehensive.

Hermione wasn't sure what to say. Kingsley was looking at her intently; she wasn't sure she could hide her emotions. "It went well. Yes. From the point of view of going through the books, it went well. But the library is vast, Minister. I am going to have to spend a considerable amount of time there."

"I see. Well, to be honest, I hadn't thought you would be able to finish as soon as I think you did." He paused. "How was Malfoy?"

Hermione lowered her eyes. "Fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes."

"Hermione?" He was clearly concerned.

She sighed. "He tolerated me. That is more than I was expecting. It is enough for me to get on with my work."

"Was he rude to you?"

"No more than I had anticipated."

"Are you happy to continue?"

Hermione thought about it briefly, but answered honestly. "Yes."

"Very well. Thank you, Hermione. I know you will do a splendid job. But, you must let me know if you feel at all uncomfortable at any point."

"It's OK, Minister. I enjoyed being in the library. But clearly, I need to free up some time here in order to spend more time at the manor. I have some space this afternoon. I was wondering if I could go back then?"

"Of course. I will ensure that your duties are reallocated here. You may spend as much time at the manor as you wish. I would recommend getting it done sooner rather than later. Nobody wants this to drag out."

"I asked Malfoy to let me know when was suitable, but he implied there were plenty of opportunities. I don't think ..." Her voice trailed off.

"Go on."

"Well, he seemed rather withdrawn, depressed even. He doesn't seem to go out much anymore. The house was – bleak, desolate – there was no life in it."

"His life since the war has been very different to what he was used to. He has found it hard to adjust. I'm sorry if that means you have a difficult atmosphere to work in. Still, it has to be done."

"I know. It's alright. I'll get it over with as soon as I can." She stood and smiled, walking to the door. "I'll keep you informed of my progress."

"Thank you, Hermione. Good luck." Shacklebolt returned to his work.

* * *

After lunch, Hermione gathered what she needed and prepared to apparate to the manor. She had not confirmed the exact time of her arrival with Malfoy, but did not suspect there would be a problem. On arrival, she found she had this time apparated to within the gates. It surprised her, but she was pleased to have cut out much of the long walk up the drive. The approach to the house could be intimidating.

She reached the front door and rang the bell. Again, she had to wait, but this time she didn't need to ring again as the door swung open heavily after a minute or so. Grimble was standing behind it.

"Good afternoon, Grimble. I'm here for my work in the library."

With another glare, the elf stepped aside, pulling the heavy door wider for her in the process. Hermione once again entered the house. The brooding tension engulfed her immediately. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to convince her lungs they could still breathe in the suffocating atmosphere.

"You are to go straight upstairs."

The elf's voice was so unexpected that she looked down with curious amazement. It was thin and reedy, but not as bitterly frosty as she had anticipated.

"OK. Fine – thank you."

Grimble continued to glower at her, clearly waiting for her to move as he had directed.

Hermione eventually realised there was nothing more to do than comply with his declaration. She walked away from him and started up the stairs. As she went, her eyes fell on the door to the room she had been shown to the day before. It was ajar and there was a light shining from within. A prickle ran over her skin as she continued up the stairs. She shook it off.

Once in the library, she shut the door firmly behind her. Putting on several small side lights, she arranged her things on the table. It was a comfortable place to work, and she was able to impart a personal touch to it. She was content here, far more than in any other part of the house. Hermione surveyed the myriad of books before her. _Good. On with the job._

Minutes swept into hours, and she was unaware of the passage of time. She had worked her way along two more rows, finding a handful of Dark Arts related texts. Again, there was nothing seditious or overly dangerous about them, but she had detailed them meticulously in her log and placed a charm over them, similar to a tracking device, which would enable the Ministry to monitor their position.

It was only when she glanced up and noticed it was completely dark outside that she realised how much time had passed. For November, it must be well after five o'clock. She needed to get back. She tidied her work as best she could and hurried down the stairs. The house was darker than ever. Hardly any lights were lit. There was still a glow emanating from behind the door of the sitting room. As she reached the hallway, she wondered if she would see him. She did not. Grimble appeared out of the shadows and silently opened the door for her as she approached it.

She continued walking out instinctively but paused long enough to turn back and inquire, "I will come tomorrow afternoon, the same time the next day, and the following morning for the whole day. Are those times satisfactory with Mr Malfoy?"

The elf grimaced. "You are to work as swiftly as you can."

"Right. I'll be back tomorrow then. Goodbye."

She walked outside. The door shut immediately behind her.

Hermione felt an odd emptiness as she stood outside. Her work had gone very well, had been very satisfying. She knew why she was feeling so odd. She was aggrieved that Malfoy had not acknowledged her presence within his house. He could at least have come out of his room and said hello.

_What was she thinking? Why should he even do that?_

But for a moment she could not move, her body tense, her fists clenched in resentment. She was not used to being ignored. Was this the way it was going to be every time? Would they remain invisible to each other?

Hermione was disturbed. Not with the thought that that was how it would be, but because she knew that the thought disappointed her. The library was enticing, fascinating, but to spend your days with no human interaction whatsoever; could she tolerate it? But then again, did she really want her sole human companion to be Lucius Malfoy?

She finally forced her feet to march a sufficient distance down the drive, and without a glance back at the building behind her, she disapparated.

Ermintrude greeted her warmly when she arrived home. She picked her up and cuddled into her thick, warm fur. Harry was away on Auror duty, Ron was busy with coaching. Ginny would be wrapped up in the children. She would have loved someone to unwind with, laugh with for a time. Instead, she took herself off to bed with the notes she had made on the books she had found that day. It wasn't long before sleep overcame her and propelled her rapidly towards another day at the manor.

The next day was a similar story. Grimble let her in silently, she stayed in the library for several hours, then left equally silently at the end of the day. She had seen no evidence that Malfoy was even in the house. Perhaps he was not. Perhaps he had gone out for a change. It almost made her feel better.

But as she walked down the drive to apparate away, she glanced back over her shoulder at the grand facade behind her. A light was on in an upper window, and silhouetted at it was a tall, straight figure, long hair flowing behind him. He was looking down at the witch as she walked away from his home.

A shiver captured Hermione just before apparition pulled her forcefully away.

* * *

It was the same on Thursday. Hermione became increasingly settled in the library, and as she saw no one, save for Grimble who let her in and out at the beginning and end of her time, she imagined she was entirely alone in the house. It allowed her to enjoy the task with keen intensity.

The next day was Friday. She could stay all day. To anyone else, the thought of spending a full day in the stifling silence would have been unthinkable, but by now Hermione had grown used to it. She had everything she needed, and as had been the case so often in her life, the books became her companions. So many fascinating new things were revealing themselves to her, that she soon forgot her initial misgivings about spending time there. She had reconciled herself to the fact that Malfoy had no wish to interact with her. It had riled her initially, but she supposed that it was probably better that way. They were sure to aggravate each other, as indeed they had, if forced to contrive a dialogue.

Friday morning went quickly. She ate her meagre sandwich for lunch, looking out over the gardens. The late autumn weather had largely removed the colours and textures, but even now, she could tell the garden had received minimal maintenance. Still, she would have liked to have gone for a walk outside after eating. With a sigh, she realised she daren't go out without seeking permission first, and she was not in the mood to confront Grimble with the request. Once again, she had been given no indication that Malfoy was home.

Hermione had no option but to settle back to work. She did so, continuing to plod through the books.

Just after three o'clock, she set down the volume she had been studying, and rubbed her eyes. They were stinging with strained exertion. She really needed a break.

"A wearisome task, Miss Granger?"

Hermione gave an audible screech and spun around in shock. Lucius Malfoy was standing a few feet inside the door of the library.

In her confusion she spoke instinctively. "You seem to have a habit of doing that."

He pouted in feigned ignorance. "A habit of what?"

"Sneaking up on people."

"_Sneaking_, Miss Granger?" His smooth sardonic drawl drifted into a room which had otherwise been silent during her time in it. "I do not _sneak._ I was merely asking a question ... to which, incidentally, I still await an answer."

She looked blankly at him for a moment. His right eyebrow rose in expectation.

She shook herself, hearing again his words of earlier. "Oh. Umm ... no, not wearisome, Mr Malfoy. But, I have been in here a long time; my eyes are tired, that is all."

He simply looked at her, his face unreadable. "Your _eyes_ are tired?" he said with a hint of amusement.

She knew she was blushing. "Yes."

"No more?"

"No more." She spoke as defiantly as she could.

He stood, looking at her, an expression of curious appraisal in his eyes. It disturbed her. "Was there anything the matter, Mr Malfoy?"

"No, Miss Granger. Whatever makes you think that?"

"Well – I just wondered – why you are here?"

His face tensed a little. "This is my house, Miss Granger. I may go wherever I like."

"Of course. I just ..." She shrugged it off.

"Yes?"

"I didn't think you had any interest in what I was doing."

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, I have a great deal of interest in what you are doing." She found herself almost smiling at him. "I simply do not have a great deal of interest in _you_."

Her stomach dropped from her and her face drained of colour. His callous words seared her more than she could have anticipated.

"In that case, you had better go."

"Once again, Miss Granger, you presume to order me about in my own home. I do not recommend it." His voice was chilling in its honesty.

She bit her lip. Her stomach churned. She had become used to her solitude, had almost forgotten he lived in the house, and now the brutal reminder of his true nature after hours of being alone threw her completely. She stared at him. He stared back, his eyes exhibiting that frosty hollowness she had seen before.

She thought he would turn and go. He did not.

Instead, she watched with trepidation and intrigue as he began to move towards her. She stood her ground firmly, unwilling to show him her alarm. As he walked, his features softened into the amused disdain she was so used to.

Malfoy stopped a few feet from her. She knew her breathing was visibly deep and rapid. She concentrated to stem it but could not. He looked down at her impassively. As is so often the case at moments of extreme anxiety, she noticed the details of his face more finely than ever. His skin was remarkably smooth, and his eyes were an almost translucent grey which imparted them with a supernatural depth. His cheekbones, sharper than they had been ten years ago, gave his face an angular grace she only now noticed.

"Miss Granger, would you care for a cup of tea?"

His words poured out suddenly and completely naturally.

Hermione stepped back in shock, coming up hard against the desk with a dull thud. She was so taken aback with his sudden normality and switch in demeanour that she could not respond. She simply continued to stare at him, vaguely aware that her mouth was hanging open in futile disbelief.

After some time, his eyebrow rose in that now familiar way, and he said with a disparaging lilt, "It is customary on these occasions to respond either in the affirmative or the negative."

"I ... wh ...yes ... Thank you."

She had stammered pathetically in surprise. He held her gaze steadily.

"Very well. I shall see you downstairs in five minutes."

He turned and left the room smoothly. Hermione was not entirely sure what had just happened. She had thought initially that they were going to spark off each other again. His sudden shift to polite hospitality confused her. For a moment, she questioned if she should actually go down, but her curiosity got the better of her, and after several minutes, longer than the five dictated, she found herself descending the gloomy staircase.

Once again, the only obvious light was the one coming from the sitting room. Malfoy had not specified where the tea would be, but she pushed the door open tentatively, thinking she should look in there first. She found him within.

"Miss Granger. I was wondering if your weary mind had already forgotten my offer."

Hermione stepped further into the room. She could not tell if Malfoy was speaking sarcastically or not. His tone was certainly not warm, but she could see the tea things set out on a table and a second chair placed opposite the one she had seen him in the first time she had arrived.

Malfoy was standing before one of the chairs. He did not invite her to sit. Hermione was not sure if she should or not. After a time, he simply flicked his hand out with casual ease, indicating for her to do so. She lowered herself down onto the soft cushion, immediately enjoying its luxuriant comfort, and waited.

Malfoy did not pour the tea, neither did he speak. The same tense atmosphere which had existed between them in the kitchen returned. Why had he not simply put her tea in a separate room if he did not wish to converse with her? Hermione stared at the teapot and the immaculate china cups. The faint, fragrant smell of bergamot filled the air between them. She suddenly became aware of her thirst and craved a cup of the hot dusky liquid. Hermione licked her lips subconsciously. Was she expected to pour it herself?

Just as she asked herself the question, the door opened and Grimble shuffled in disconsolately. He glared at her, before turning to his master. Lucius inclined his head to the elf, who reached for the teapot. But as he picked it up, Hermione could hear him muttering fervently under his breath. She could not make out every word, but based on his tone of voice and the occasional recognition of words such as, 'muggle-born', 'shame', and 'servitude', she could tell he was finding the task extremely difficult. His hand, before it had even managed to pour a single drop, was shaking the teapot.

"Grimble," Malfoy hissed, cold and harsh, "you will do my bidding."

Between clenched teeth, Grimble sucked in a breath, and at last the tea filled her cup.

"Thank you," she said genuinely to the elf, who shot her a venomous glare before filling his master's cup and then departing, still muttering about ignominy and dishonour. Hermione could not help but smile a little to herself at his resemblance to Kreacher.

"Something amusing, Miss Granger?"

She darted her head up to Malfoy's. "No! No, it's just ... your elf was clearly struggling to serve me."

"Can you blame him?"

Malfoy's defence of Grimble after the terse command he had given him earlier riled her. She did not reply.

Hermione took a sip of her tea. The hot liquid ran down her throat, soothing the dryness which had been building there throughout the afternoon. Despite the tense atmosphere, she admitted that it was nice to have a change of scene.

The man adjacent to her seemed quite happy to sit silently, but try as she might, it simply wasn't in her nature not to engage someone in conversation, even if that person was Lucius Malfoy. "Why are so many of the windows boarded up?" Her words were blurted out before she had a chance to stop herself.

He looked slowly at her, clear surprise etched on his face. "I beg your pardon?"

"I just ... wondered why you did not let more light into the building. It would benefit from the openness, the increased sense of space." Once she was started, she always found it hard to stop.

"Miss Granger, you are here to catalogue my library, not to offer advice on interior design."

She hung her head. "Sorry. It just seems a shame. This is such a beautiful house. I get the feeling that ..." She stopped.

The man next to her leant in menacingly. "What, Miss Granger? Do carry on." His low voice chilled her in its smooth sardonic iciness.

Her skin shivered, but she was emboldened. "I get the feeling that the house itself is struggling to breathe, as if it is being smothered."

There was an immediate silence, from him and the house itself.

Hermione knew she had done it again. _Why couldn't she keep her big fat mouth shut?_ Just as she thought she had made her time in the manor a little more tolerable, she had put her foot in it once more.

A sudden heat rose to the surface of Hermione's flesh. Malfoy's eyes trained on her made her burn up. They widened visibly. But she did not look away, and for a time she thought he would curse her. He did not, but she was sure he would now dismiss her from the house. Instead, after what seemed minutes, Malfoy slowly pulled himself back a little but kept his eyes trained into hers.

"It seems you still have not learnt to control that tongue of yours, Miss Granger. I offer you tea and get nothing but meddlesome invective in return. How very un-Gryffindor like."

It was her turn to rise to the bait. "I had no intention of insulting you, Mr Malfoy. I was merely making an observation. Your house is extraordinary, but ..." His eyes flashed cold. She closed her mouth quickly.

Further silence. Hermione calmed, but could not understand why the man beside her remained there. She supposed it was to keep an eye on her while she was out of his library, to ensure she did nothing wrong. She drank her tea. It was a strangely domestic comfort amidst an extraordinary situation.

"How are you progressing with your task?"

She nearly choked on her mouthful. His sudden straightforward question shocked her.

"Err ... fine ... yes, fine, thank you."

"How much have you been able to complete?"

"I have worked my way through about half of one side of a central bookcase."

She heard a faint tut from him. It tweaked her annoyance again. "You have merely scratched the surface, Miss Granger. Do try to work faster."

"Mr Malfoy, I can assure you that I am working as fast as I can. Believe me, anyone else would be taking far longer."

His raised his eyebrows appraisingly. "What an arrogant little witch you are! Has anyone told you how unbecoming a character trait that is?"

She stared at him open-mouthed. He looked back with a clear smirk. He knew full well of the self-describing significance of his words. It almost amused her. She allowed her eyes to soften, and noticed a light dance in his. She lowered her head. When his features relaxed, she realised how easy on the eye he was. It was not something she was comfortable with.

She finished her cup and set it down on the table.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy, for the tea. Seeing as I have only scratched the surface, I had better get back to work immediately." She spoke with the same sarcastic dryness he normally exhibited. His eyes were still dancing.

She stood then took a step back in surprise when he did the same. She was not used to gentlemanly deference, certainly not from Harry or Ron. Although she knew it would have been usual for Malfoy to behave thus with his own kind, she had not expected it with regard to her.

"I ... I could return over the weekend and carry on, if you wish. That would give me more time."

"Giving up your weekend for a Malfoy, Miss Granger? Who would have thought it? Have you nothing better to do with your spare time?"

She opened her mouth to explain the many other, exciting things she could be doing, but found no words coming. There were no other exciting things. His smirk broadened.

"Until tomorrow then, Miss Granger."

Hermione lowered her head, mumbled thanks for the tea again, and returned to the library.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy sat down once more. His eyes fell on the tea cup the woman had been drinking from. He could make out the faint traces of her lipstick imprint on the china. He wondered momentarily why he did not find the sight repulsive. Instead, he stared hard at it, noting each little line of the indentations of the delicate skin of her lips.

He had not intended to ask the woman down for tea. He had found himself near the library and was curious to know how she was progressing. He was perfectly entitled to go anywhere in his house at any point he wished.

They had found it impossible not to aggravate each other somewhat. That seemed to be the norm. He expected no less. It was at least diverting.

And then he'd asked her to tea. It confused him somewhat. He had intended to show the Muggle-born the minimum of hospitality in his home. She could fulfil her task without it. So why had he asked the question?

His rational mind did not allow him to ignore the truth - he had wanted some conversation.

It had been a long time, a very long time, since anyone of any interest had set foot in the house.

_Anyone of any interest?_ Is that what the woman was?

He could not deny her intelligence, her incisive mind. He inhaled deeply. Once again, her aroma lingered in the air. It was a pleasant enough smell. It may help to diffuse the oppressive atmosphere she had spoken of.

His face twisted in a grimace. _What was he thinking?_ He should not be corroborating her words. He lived his life now as he wished. As fate had compelled him.

He swept out of the room and away from her smell.

She must finish her work quickly and be gone.

* * *

**I don't think it's quite going to work that way, Lucius ...**

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	4. Chapter 4

**I told you it was a slow-burn. I meant it. But it's worth it. ;-)**

* * *

As she had planned, Hermione arrived at Malfoy Manor on Saturday. It was not unusual for her to give up weekends for work, but this day she felt a tension within which she couldn't fully explain.

The normal routine occurred again. Grimble let her in, she walked upstairs, Malfoy remained invisible. The sensation inside Hermione grew.

But on entering the library and settling amongst the yards of old books stretching out to her sides and above, the knot in her stomach unravelled, and her mind eased. Time passed.

Hermione had worked her way almost to the top of the one side of the first bookcase. She could not describe her work as fulfilling from the point of view of finding scintillating, dark texts, but she had come across enough of merit and interest to keep her enthralled. The range of texts in Malfoy's library staggered her. Each had been annotated neatly with a date, presumably of when it was acquired. Many had indeed been in the family for years, centuries even, but Hermione was surprised to discover that several of the more intellectual texts had been bought within the last twenty or thirty years, presumably by Malfoy himself. There were, she was amazed to discover, even a few Muggle texts, from a wide range of authors: Dickens, Hemingway, Tolstoy, even Nietzche. The collection was revealing more about Lucius Malfoy than she had discovered in the twenty odd years she had known of him.

At length she glanced at her watch. It was nearly three o'clock. She had completely forgotten lunch. As if on cue, her stomach growled in protest. Crossing to her bag, she reached in for her sandwich. It wasn't there. _Shit._

She had left it at home. Despite not being aware of it until now, Hermione suddenly felt weak with hunger. She would have to eat something.

Things had seemed harmonious enough between her, Malfoy and Grimble. Surely she could ask for some bread, cheese or ham? She'd even offer to pay for it.

Taking a deep breath, she ventured into the hallway. She was met with the usual gloomy silence. Hermione walked down the stairs purposefully. As ever, the light was on in the sitting room. She knocked gently.

Almost immediately, footsteps sounded firmly within, and the door was flung back to reveal Lucius Malfoy looking down impenetrably.

"Miss Granger." It was not an enquiry but an expression of surprise and annoyance. "Are you unwell?"

_Was there no other reason why she should have left the library?_

"No, not unwell, Mr Malfoy. I'm sorry to trouble you, but I seem to have forgotten my lunch. I was wondering if I might be able to make myself a sandwich?"

At first he said nothing, merely remained looking down. Hermione swallowed. Seconds ticked away. Had she not made her meaning clear?

"Lunch, Miss Granger? It is after three o'clock. Lunch was two hours ago."

"I know. I hadn't realised it was so late. I was engrossed in my work."

He cocked an eyebrow.

Further silence.

It was broken by the loud rumbling of Hermione's stomach. She clutched her hand to it and grinned in embarrassment. His eyebrow rose even higher. She could not prevent a giggle breaking out; the whole situation was ludicrous.

"You do find the strangest things amusing, Miss Granger." Malfoy was not laughing.

Hermione was still trying to suppress her titters. "Yes, I suppose I do."

Malfoy looked confused again. She had seen that look when she had been in his kitchen asking if she could sit down. His conscience, his values, his sense of what was right, were being pulled in every direction by a woman in his house asking for a sandwich.

His body was tense again, his features clenched. Then suddenly, in a voice which shot from him, he spoke. "Go and sit in there. I shall see what Grimble has. Wait!" The last word was spat with such ferocious intensity, that Hermione did not question it for a moment. She almost ran into the room. Malfoy had already swept along the hall towards the kitchen.

Hermione went and sat in the same chair she had been in the day before. Her foot tapped manically. She looked over at his chair. He had been reading. She could not make out the title, but it was a thick volume, bound in dark leather. It was clearly a magical text; the image on the front cover was moving. As ever, he had a half-finished glass of whisky on the table beside him. Hermione breathed deeply, inhaling the aroma she had come to associate with him. It was an intriguing smell. She could not deny that it appealed to her.

The door was suddenly opened forcefully and Malfoy swept back in. He came and sat swiftly in his chair, crossing his legs before him.

"Grimble is preparing you something. In future, be so kind as to ensure you are more organised." He immediately picked up his book and started to read.

"Thank you," Hermione mumbled.

Should she go now? She looked across at him. He did not move, his eyes flitting rapidly over the text. He turned the pages with remarkable rapidity. She had never known such a fast reader, with the exception of herself. She took his silence as her cue to go. She could wait in the kitchen for the food.

Hermione gently pushed up on the arms of the chair and started almost to tiptoe out.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy exclaimed in frosty annoyance.

"I was just ... I thought ..."

"Sit down," he hissed. "Grimble will serve you in here. I do not want you wandering all over the house."

The Granger pluck was fired. "I wasn't going to _'wander all over the house'_, Mr Malfoy. I was simply going to the kitchen to see if I could relieve Grimble. And leave you in peace."

His features flinched. He averted his eyes. She was not sure why.

"You will eat here." Again, he returned to his book.

Hermione sat once more and waited in silence. Malfoy did not once glance across at her. At last, the door opened and Grimble shuffled in with a heavy tray. Hermione would have been happy with some crusty bread and cheese by this point, and wasn't expecting more from a Muggle-born-hating house-elf, but the sight that met her eyes made her gape in astonishment.

On the tray was a selection of sliced brown and white breads, a wide choice of cheeses, ham, pickles, fruit, chutney, a tall glass of sparkling water, silver cutlery and a damask napkin.

"I ... goodness. Thank you, Grimble. This is extraordinary."

The house-elf merely sneered, mumbled something about orders under his breath, and left.

Hermione beamed and looked across at Malfoy. He was glancing over at her under hooded eyes. As soon as she looked at him, he averted his stare.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy. You must let me give you some money for all this."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said coldly. She stared at the tray of food before her. "Eat it then ... before it gets cold."

She looked up. The tiniest, but still significant, suggestion of a smirk played around his mouth. There was nothing remotely hot on the plate. Lucius Malfoy had just cracked a joke. Before she could smile back, he had removed any warmth from his face and turned swiftly back to his book.

She picked up her knife and fork and started to eat. She should have felt embarrassed eating in front of him, but for some reason, with him seemingly reading so intently, she did not.

Hermione ate silently for some minutes, assuaging the avid hunger which had overtaken her. Malfoy appeared not even to be aware of her presence; his head remained buried in the book.

But once the hunger diminished, she could not prevent her brazen Gryffindor spirit rising to the fore. "What are you reading?"

He raised his head slowly and with clear disdain to stare hard at her. Then his head descended again to the page, and she thought he would not reply.

"The Philosophy of Nineteenth Century Spell Craft and its Influence on Modern Magic." The eventual drawl was low and smooth.

"Bertram Reniksov?"

"The same."

"I used that a few years ago for some research. I thought I recognised it. The chapter on the logic behind the thoughts needed to render a spell effective was fascinating in particular."

Malfoy's eyes rose briefly to look at the witch sitting before him. She glanced over. He lowered his gaze again.

Silence. Hermione took a grape.

"Would you like some food? There is far more here than I can manage."

"No." More terse coldness.

But now that Hermione had found her voice, she knew it would be hard to remain silent.

"You don't seem to use the other rooms very often."

He did not look up. She waited.

"Do not test me, Miss Granger. I would advise against it."

Malfoy's voice was reminiscent of the chill tones she had heard those years ago in the Department of Mysteries. He had not taken his eyes off the page of his book, and as he finished his sentence, he smoothly turned to the next. His manner should have unnerved her, but she remained remarkably composed.

Indeed, the food had imbued Hermione with strength, both physically and emotionally. She sensed, despite his cold words, that he was willing to talk. It was, she could only admit, a challenge. And she enjoyed talking, even to former Death Eaters.

"You seem to be remarkably happy to sit here with me, Mr Malfoy."

He raised his head to her, his eyes aglow with hostility. Again, she did not flinch.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?"

Her lips tensed in anger, but she tried not to show it. "Not that I'm aware of, Mr Malfoy. How exactly do you mean?"

His eyes continued to bore into hers. She did not look away. Her blood raced hot around her body. Hermione could not deny that the confrontation was giving her a perverse thrill. She was happy to perpetuate it. So, it seemed, was Malfoy.

"I told you not to test me." Malfoy's eyes flashed at her. The tenuous truce which had existed between them was being threatened. "I could point out that you seem equally content to sit here with me."

"I don't seem to have a choice."

"Are all Muggle-borns as rude as you, Miss Granger?" Still his eyes met hers.

"No, I'm probably the rudest Muggle-born in the world." She held his stare. She wondered briefly why he had not used the term Mudblood, but his dismissive insults had inflamed her temper. "But then, I have such inspiration at the moment."

"And what inspiration is that?"

"The company of a bigoted, narrow-minded, Muggle-hating murderer."

"A murderer, Miss Granger?" His voice queried with a sudden, almost amused calmness.

"Yes."

"You assume an awful lot with that statement."

"It is a valid assumption to make."

"Is it now? And what evidence have you got for this - _assumption?"_

"The fact that you were Voldemort's right hand man, the fact that I have personally seen you engaged in some of the most ferocious and costly battles and wand duels in the history of magic, the fact that you were sentenced to imprisonment in Azkaban for an indefinite period."

His features did not flicker, but she saw a shift in his eyes. His nostrils flared a little. He was breathing heavily.

There was a thick silence between them for an age. An electric buzz was coursing through Hermione. She knew she had pushed too far, but had felt ready, felt too as if he would welcome the argument, the tussle between them. It had been a long time since she had felt such exhilaration.

"It seems you are not as clever as everyone thinks, Miss Granger." Dismissive arrogance. He turned back to his book with casual disinterest.

Her insides twisted. She tried not to show the sting on her face, but knew she had failed. "And why is that, Mr Malfoy?"

Slowly, the grey eyes once again raised to hers. His face exuded a remarkable stillness, despite the incendiary nature of their conversation. She could see that same slight smirk she had witnessed earlier dancing at the corners of his mouth.

"Please inform me of the names of these people I have murdered. Or even simply their descriptions, if you wish. I would love to know." His voice was remarkably smooth and calm, with a teasing lilt underpinning it.

Hermione opened her mouth, her mind telling her there were sure to be many names and images popping into her head. No words came out. She wracked her brains, thinking back to the battles, the time she had been in his house, the stories she had heard from Harry. She glanced at him - the eyebrow was up again, waiting. She frowned. There was not a single incident she could recall where he personally had ended anyone's life.

"But ... you were Voldemort's favourite. Surely ... I ..."

"Assumed? A very dangerous way to proceed, Miss Granger. Making assumptions shuts off the mind to reality, narrows the window of perception, dulls the ability to absorb truth profoundly."

She glared at him in clear anger. "And you're never guilty of making assumptions, Mr Malfoy?"

"I have my moments of fallibility, Miss Granger, like the rest of humankind. But I probably make fewer than you would give me credit for."

Hermione knew she was blushing. She tried not to acknowledge the feeling of shame nudging her conscience. She shook it off by continuing her questioning of him. He was being remarkably equable with her, despite the hostile nature of the conversation, and the thrill bubbling within her continued.

"But he must have ordered you to ... end lives."

"Yes."

"Are you telling me you did not obey?"

"If I had not obeyed I would not be here talking to you now."

"So you got other people to do your dirty work for you?"

Malfoy looked across at her evenly, but his eyes were ablaze with an intensity which terrified and mesmerised her equally.

"How eloquently you express yourself, Miss Granger." The sarcasm was still remarkably smooth and mellow.

"And do you feel because you were not personally responsible for someone's death, that somehow exonerates you from blame?"

He did not reply but did not take his eyes from hers.

"Some people would say that your behaviour was even more reprehensible than if you had perpetrated the acts yourself. Some people would say that you were a ..." She stopped herself. She mustn't.

The man beside her leaned forward in his chair again. She dared not look at him. If she had, she would have seen his face frozen with rigidity, but within the tense mask, eyes that burned through ice. "Pray, continue, Miss Granger. I am, as they say, all ears."

She could not. What she was about to say would undoubtedly have been too much. But was it with fear that she had stopped herself? Or something else? Did she truly believe what she was about to say? Did Lucius Malfoy really deserve to be called a coward? A sudden whirl of conflicting emotions and thoughts beset Hermione. She needed to go. She had to.

Hermione put the tray down and stood swiftly. "Thank you for the food, Mr Malfoy, and do thank your house-elf as well. What he did was far more than was necessary."

"Going so soon, Miss Granger? And I was just beginning to enjoy myself." Malfoy too stood and took a step towards her. She swayed with alarm. The tension between them threatened to erupt. She could sense the air fizzing with palpable energy.

Hermione could not leave things how they were. But she had been too close, too close to the reality of why he was the way he was now. She should go, get back up to the relative safety of the library. But her mind niggled, her tongue tingled, desperate to speak. She at last raised her head. He stood tall before her. Was it arrogance that pinched in his features? Pride? She knew she could not remain silent.

"We have all done things we regret, Mr Malfoy - some little trivial things, some great and terrible. It is how we face up to those things which will remain with us and ultimately define us. How we reconcile them in our minds ... in our souls. Whether we feel remorse ... whether we feel guilt." She looked into the burning grey of his eyes, searching them, trying to penetrate through into his very soul. "Do you feel guilt, Mr Malfoy?"

The azure flame sparked. His aroma filled her senses. His broad torso loomed before her.

"Guilt is an unproductive emotion, Miss Granger. It achieves nothing." His voice was remarkably steady. She could not stop the next words from slipping out.

"So why is it you sit here alone in the darkness of your house waiting for time to carry you further and further away from the pain?"

He stood before her. Hermione had amazed herself with her resolve and determination. Even now, with his anger tangible before her, prickling the air between them, she felt little but excitement, certainly no regret. It had been so long since she had engaged anyone in a conversation that was even memorable, let alone stimulating. So what if the man before her had been one of the world's great dark wizards?

Lucius Malfoy did not flinch, but he felt his body coiled and rigid. The woman before him was remarkably brave. Never before had anyone spoken to him in that way and got away with it. So why now? Why had he not taken out his wand and cursed her? Searching the depths of his scarred and barricaded soul, he knew why.

She had been interested. Not enthralled, over-awed, not intimidated, nor fearful - simply interested. Interested in him.

It was almost as if she _cared_. She, a Mudblood, who had more reason to hate him than anyone.

Why should she bother with him? She could do her job and get out. He would not get in her way. Why was she wasting her time talking through these matters - these vast, impenetrable matters which no one had ever wanted or dared to confront before?

He had to speak. But the words which emerged were calm and plain, not the burning malicious fury he surely should have summoned up.

"May I remind you, Miss Granger, that you are a guest in this house. And one that I am only tolerating out of necessity. If you abuse your position within my home, I shall request you be removed."

"And then what, Mr Malfoy? They would send you someone else. Do you think you could tolerate them anymore than me? At least with me, you know what to expect. And ..."

She stopped and lowered her head.

"And what, Miss Granger? You have an annoying habit of leaving your sentences hanging in the air."

Again, she had sparked the air between them, and he had merely responded by prompting her for more. It confused him. Malfoy waited. Eventually, she raised her head to him again. He looked down into the brown eyes of the woman before him. She held his gaze with a defiance, not of hatred, but ferocious self-assurance. It was rare he ever witnessed that in people in his presence.

The woman delivered her words, then turned and glided from the room, leaving him alone once again.

"I like to talk."

* * *

**Just talk, Hermione? **

**Join me on facebook - Laurielove - for fun and frolics. (Yes, I'm trying to get up to 400 likes, but the fun and frolics are real!)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I wrote this story before the DH 1 and 2 films had come out. In those, Lucius' degeneration is portrayed much more vividly and explicitly than in the books. But I'd always imagined him being a ruined man due to the events of the war, even though JKR doesn't convey that at all in the books. I explore that a bit in this chapter, and, looking back now having seen the films, I'm quite proud that it's pretty much in keeping with what happens. (Yay!) I was tempted to add a little bit to refer to the films, but I haven't. These are my original thoughts, entirely from trying to get inside Lucius' head from the books. Of course, we don't know what happened to Lucius' marriage after the war, but I don't see it surviving. (Incidentally, Jason Isaacs said the same thing when asked about Lucius and Narcissa, but I didn't know that when I wrote this!) There's lots to think about in this chapter. Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Lucius Malfoy remained in the sitting room.

The woman's words stayed in his mind as much as he wished to purge them from his consciousness.

His own composure during their conversation had confused him. She should have riled him, pushed him to curse her or at least dismiss her from the house. And yet, he had met her brutal honesty with remarkable equanimity.

She was a curious thing, he admitted.

In the years after the war, he still held fast to the notion of pureblood superiority, but had been forced to concede that there was to be no elimination of half-bloods and Muggle-borns. He would, out of self-preservation and necessity, have to exist among them. With that realisation had come a forced tolerance of their kind, albeit with bitter distaste at every encounter. If the Granger woman had arrived fifteen years ago to rifle through his library, he doubted she would have made it two steps up the drive. Now ...

But the events of the war had changed things. He had seen all he held dear twisted and warped; had been forced to confront the deepest darkness of who he was. His beliefs were too ingrained to be wiped out, but the change he had seen in his son, the flaying of his soul, had been felt just as acutely by him.

The emotional depravity he encountered in those around him, and indeed himself, had forced him to at last question the validity of his former master's methods. How could he have allowed his family to be subject to such atrocity, to become mere puppets in the Dark Lord's quest? And what was that quest? What the Dark Lord had wanted was in actuality far removed from what he had foreseen. It was far from a mere restoration to noble and pure wizarding values of old, values which had been instilled in him from a young age, values which he believed to be right, proper; the only way. In the build up to the final battles, he had found himself committing atrocities simply out of fear; fear of rejection, fear of exclusion, and ultimately, fear of elimination, elimination of the only world he had ever known or understood. But as he saw the light fading from his son's eyes, his pale flesh stretching tighter and tighter over the gaunt cheekbones, all colour gone from a face which should have been radiant and bright in the flush of youth, he had at last realised his errors.

And when it was all over, the psychological ambiguity of his situation was unbearable. For a man of his vast intellect, the innumerable stream of paradoxes, contradictions and seemingly irrational dilemmas threw him into confusion.

His wife remained strong. She always had been. It was she who had sought help for Draco, she who had prompted him when he had wavered before Voldemort, she who had lied for Potter at the crucial moment. He liked to believe that if he had had the opportunity, he would have done the same, but he was not sure that he would.

And he had been saved.

Saved by a half-blood who had spent most of his life in the company of Muggles, a half-blood who could never have succeeded had it not been for the love and loyalty of his blood traitor companion ... and a Mudblood.

A Mudblood who was at this moment up in his library.

What was it she had said earlier? _"Some people would say that you were a ..."_

He flinched. He knew the word she should have finished her sentence with. It was not the first time he had heard it. It was not the first time he had thought it.

His wife had thought it. It was one of the reasons she had left him.

In the months after the war, he had retreated into himself. Narcissa had recovered swiftly, emboldened by their exoneration at the trial. But his tormented and perplexed mind did not allow him to move on so quickly. It had been good to see Draco picking up the pieces, and he had hoped to mirror his son's rebuilding of his fractured life. But Draco had always been tough, belligerent. He had at least instilled those values well in his son. And he was young. Wounds healed faster at his age: both physical and emotional. It was not so easy when life had already twisted you out and wrung you dry for decades. A few months in Azkaban alone rendered emotional immunity negligible.

Thus, as his wife and son had thrived, putting the past behind them, moving on and up, so he had diminished. It was as if Lucius was absorbing the agony of their past alone, sending them on their way, while he absorbed the sin and shame entirely onto him.

Narcissa essentially moved to London. Draco got a job at Gringott's. He saw them less and less. There had been no parties after the war. No one wanted to come to a party hosted by a former Death Eater. And yet Narcissa and Draco were quickly reaccepted back into society. They were constantly out and about in London and elsewhere. Lucius had joined them occasionally to start with. It had been intolerable.

And as society re-embraced his family, and Lucius turned away from who he was, so too did it. He had been too close, too closely linked to the Dark Lord, and he had failed in his duties. If there was one thing worse than a traitor, it was an incompetent traitor. He found himself largely ignored by people, who would avert their eyes and make excuses if he approached them. And the mask had at last been fully stripped away. He had nothing left to hide behind.

People no longer knew who he was. And neither, apparently, did his wife and son. Neither did they bother to find out. Narcissa merely scolded him for not making more of an effort, his son distanced himself more and more.

But as his alienation from those he had once regarded as friends and colleagues deepened, he found a strange comfort in his own thoughts, his own company. There seemed no-one who could fathom, let alone empathise with the torment consuming his mind and soul. Not even his wife, who when life was a simple question of restoring Voldemort to full power, had been his constant guide and support. She could no longer absorb the depth of his anguish. She had no desire to. And he shamed her.

Physically, their relationship began to alter. Their love life had always been active and inventive, although sometimes lacking in an emotional bond, but now he found her remote, and became aware of his own needs shifting. He sought a deeper connection with her, a reassurance, which she was unable to provide. Their love-making became increasingly infrequent and clinical. Neither was satisfied.

She took a lover. He knew she had, and found himself strangely unperturbed. Shortly afterward, she asked for a separation. They were divorced a year later.

And so he had retreated to that which was familiar: his home, his history, surrounding himself in those things which he knew would remain long after all else had gone. He had now not seen Narcissa for three years. He rarely saw Draco. His son visited the Manor only for his father's birthday and when he needed money. Even then, he would stay only as long as was absolutely necessary.

And now the only visitor he had was his son's former arch-enemy: a Muggle-born who had thwarted his family so much in her short life.

He should not tolerate her. And yet she remained in his house. On a cold, dark Saturday, the vast space around him had briefly been filled with words, conversation: engaging, stimulating, once again.

Despite the antagonistic words which had passed between them, Lucius Malfoy could not deny that the conversation had been satisfying. And she, apparently, had felt the same.

He could imagine conversing with her again.

He finished his drink and stared into the fire. The clock on the mantelpiece gradually ticked its way into his consciousness. He glanced at it. It was nearly five o'clock. She would go soon. She invariably left at five on the dot. He heard her go and noted the time each day.

He looked down. His fingers were drumming on the arm of the chair. He had not realised.

The clock struck five. He listened intently. A moment later he heard what his ears were straining for; footsteps on the stairs, retreating swiftly back to her world, out, far away from the dark oppression he found comfort in.

He heard her mutter a brief farewell to Grimble, thanking his ungrateful elf yet again for the food, then the door shut with heavy dullness.

Lucius Malfoy poured himself another whisky.

* * *

Hermione questioned whether she should return to the manor on Sunday. But it was raining and there was little else to do. She had made a significant start on her task, but it was still only a start, and she remembered that Shacklebolt needed to present her findings to the Wizengamot at the next session. That was only a few weeks away.

She paused in her thoughts. Surely the imperative to work quickly lay in the fact that working under Lucius Malfoy's eye in the heavy atmosphere of his home was a difficult experience.

Hermione had to admit that the dread she had experienced before her arrival at the manor was now largely gone. The library itself seemed to welcome her, and her brief conversations with Malfoy had been diverting, intriguing. He seemed to tolerate her. She had been amazed at what she had felt bold enough to say the day before, and even more staggered by his calm reaction to it. She could detect clear anger at times, but it had not deterred her, or him for that matter. She could tell they had both been stimulated by the conversation.

She would go back, even on a Sunday.

Once again, there was no sign of Malfoy as she arrived. She had packed her lunch very carefully this time and ate it contentedly after making good progress through the books during the morning. Hermione had found a book with quite detailed instructions on various curses associated with blindness and paralysis. The text was the darkest she had come across, but it was still merely an object of curiosity from centuries before. He would be permitted to keep it.

The day wore on rapidly. Hermione realised she would have to head home soon enough. Fatigue swept suddenly over her, and she yawned audibly. It had been a long day. Her mind swam with spells, enchantments and charms she had been reading about. As her yawn died away the chimes from the grandfather clock in the hallway distantly struck four. She would give herself another hour.

There was a loud thud behind her as the door was suddenly thrown back. She spun around with a gasp, managing this time to suppress the scream. Lucius Malfoy stood in the doorway.

"Tea."

He fixed his eyes into hers briefly, his face displaying no discernible emotion, then turned and left as rapidly as he had arrived.

Hermione swayed and reached behind to steady herself on the desk.

Was that an invitation? An order? She almost laughed aloud at the preposterous nature of his interruption.

Still, she found herself drawn out of the room. Tea, whether she was being ordered to drink it or not, was very welcome indeed. And it would be good to have someone to talk to.

Even if that person was Lucius Malfoy.

She glided silently down the stairs. The house still seemed to have that expectation of silence about it, which she dared not break.

The light was shining forth from the sitting room, beckoning her towards it. She pushed the door back gently and looked inside. She could see the black clad arm resting on the arm of the chair, just as it had done that first day she had arrived, barely under a week ago. How time had rushed by.

This time, however, the occupant of the chair turned around from it and looked towards her.

"Sit down, Miss Granger. As you can see, Grimble has arranged things already."

Lucius indicated her chair, before which sat a table piled high with a glorious selection of afternoon snacks; cake, sandwiches, scones, and a great porcelain teapot as its centrepiece.

She walked over, more confidently than ever, and sat, suddenly aware that her meagre sandwich had done little to provide her with enough sustenance for a whole day.

Hermione expected Grimble to arrive as he had done before and pour the tea, but he did not. This time, she nearly jumped in shock when Malfoy himself suddenly reached for the handle and poured the hot brown liquid smoothly into her cup.

"Thank you," she smiled across at him.

He looked up at her, noting the smile, but lowered his eyes rapidly, his own features remaining impassive.

Malfoy poured himself a cup, then sat back to sip it. She saw a book resting beside him, but it was closed, and he made no attempt to pick it up to read.

She took a sip of her own tea. It was very hot. She would have to let it cool.

"Will you not eat?"

His sudden query took her by surprise.

"Err ... yes ... may I?"

"Why else would it be there, Miss Granger?" The terse admonishment did little but amuse her. She reached across for a plate and took a sandwich and a slice of cake. The man beside her took nothing. This time she felt awkward eating in his presence. She took tiny little bites which she chewed as unobtrusively as possible.

Malfoy said nothing, and she tried to eat as rapidly as she could. He stared straight ahead into the fire. Hermione wondered why he had invited her down. She was more than happy to converse with him, but did not want to risk speaking as bluntly as she had the day before. Although the conversation had been energising, it had expended a lot of emotional energy, and she did not think she had it in her to do it again today.

"And how is the great Potter these days?" Malfoy's low drawl suddenly and unexpectedly broke the silence.

Hermione stared across at him in surprise. "Fine ... yes ... he's doing very well. He's Chief Auror now."

"How predictable." His sarcasm was undeniable. Hermione's blood started to course faster through her veins again. She felt that was exactly what her companion wanted.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes. I'm surprised the sycophantic lapdogs of the Ministry haven't made him Minister for Magic yet."

"Harry has been promoted on nothing but merit, Mr Malfoy."

He turned to look at her with a faint sneer. She bristled, but bit her lip. "Married that Weasley girl, didn't he?"

"That's right."

Malfoy continued to look across at her, but his features had lost the look of disdain, and he merely stared at her evenly. She held his gaze. "But no other weddings for the Weasley clan, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blushed and lowered her eyes. Should she be affronted that he was asking her about her private life? It may embarrass her a little, but it had all been a long time ago now, and she was not afraid to talk about it. In fact, the identity of the person sitting beside her seemed to make her want to talk about it. Malfoy had been through a lot in his own private life. It seemed strangely fitting to talk to him.

"No. If you are referring to my relationship with Ron, it only lasted three years. We thought about getting married, but ... we both knew in our hearts that it wouldn't be right. We had changed a lot after the war, ... grown up, as well as all the rest."

"It was ridiculous that you got together at all."

She glared at him. "Who on earth are you to presume to tell me about my relationships?"

"Don't be foolish, Miss Granger, anyone with any sense could see that he would never satisfy a woman like you."

It was as if a sword had suddenly split the air between them. Hermione stopped breathing. Malfoy averted his eyes rapidly, his features tensing. She saw the faintest reddening on his high cheekbones. Hermione quickly took another sip from her tea. Malfoy did the same. That was surely the closest Lucius Malfoy would ever come to complimenting her, albeit inadvertently.

But his clear betrayal of a sneaking respect for her emboldened Hermione, and she knew that her drive and curiosity could not let it go. She put down her cup, looked boldly across at him and said, "And what sort of man do you think would satisfy a woman like me, Mr Malfoy?"

His eyes flashed. He had not expected her to counter. The dark lips pursed and he shrugged as casually as he could, "I cannot possibly imagine, Miss Granger." He turned to look at her, and, forming his mouth into a slight smirk, regained the upper hand with his next smooth drawl, "Why don't you enlighten me?"

Hermione did not flinch. "Well, seeing as I am unmarried and currently single, it seems I am still working that one out." He raised an eyebrow. Hermione found herself thinking aloud. "I dated quite a few people after Ron. All kinds. None of them right. I think my name and reputation preceded me. I seemed to scare the good ones off. Anyway, I didn't know what I wanted." She looked down, almost forgetting who she was talking to.

"And do you now?"

She glanced up at him in surprise. "What?"

"Know what you want?"

"I don't know. I am more content, I suppose. I'm in no hurry. I have my job, my home ... my cat." She chuckled. "I like being my own person. Not having to rely on anyone. Not having anyone rely on me. That was the big problem with Ron ... he was so needy."

Again, she looked up, having almost forgotten that it was Lucius Malfoy sitting beside her. She blushed and took another sandwich. Eating would at least shut her up for a while.

Malfoy kept looking steadily at her. "And why are you telling me this, Miss Granger?"

"As I recall, you asked, Mr Malfoy. And anyway, as I said ... I like to talk." She glanced up, her eyes dancing to convey her amusement. She thought she could detect a spark within the impenetrable grey of his. Perhaps it was just the reflected firelight.

"Are you still reading the Reniksov book?" she queried, glancing at the book on the table beside him.

"Don't insult me. I finished that shortly after you left yesterday."

"It was a large volume."

"_And?"_ he stressed the word harshly.

"You are clearly a very fast reader."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No. May I borrow it?"

He sighed. "Miss Granger, you have an entire library at your disposal, and you request the one book that is not in it."

"Never mind. I can get it from the Ministry library."

Malfoy did not respond. His features were tense again. They had finished the tea. Malfoy removed his wand and waved it. The food and crockery disappeared.

"Is Grimble not here?"

"His salaried duties finished a while ago."

"Do you pay him?" She was surprised. He looked at her in annoyance.

"Of course. Thanks to you, I have to." She crossed her arms and sighed, looking away. "But he is a good worker. I have no qualms about giving him a decent wage."

Hermione looked at him, her mouth open. She could never have imagined Lucius Malfoy paying his house-elf.

At length, Malfoy picked up his book and started to read. Hermione tried to stifle a yawn again. "I suppose I should try and get a little more done before I go. That was lovely tea. Do thank Grimble for me."

Malfoy glanced at her, a perplexed frown on his face. Why did the woman insist on being so damned appreciative? He returned to his book.

Hermione tried to push up out of the chair, but found herself lacking any energy whatsoever. Her companion had fallen into quiet concentrated silence. He did not seem to be insisting on her departure. Her shoes had come off, and without thinking, she curled her feet up under her on the chair and rested her head against the high side.

The fire crackled soothingly, and the clock ticked with muffled regularity. Hermione yawned again. Her eyes were so heavy. She knew her breathing was slowing. Did it matter? It seemed not. She was so warm, her body satisfied with the food and drink it had just imbibed. _So warm ... quiet ... the man beside her a solid presence ... forget who it is ... a solid presence ... a reassuring presence ... the clock ticks ... the fire is dying ... eyes so heavy ... so warm ... breathe in ... that smell ... smells of him ... a good smell ... he smells of Christmas ..._

* * *

After some time, Lucius Malfoy became aware that the Mudblood had not left the room. He looked up from his book across at her. Her eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, her chest rising and falling slowly as her head lolled against the side of the chair. She was asleep.

He put down his book and stood in annoyance. He gave her tea, a chance to have a break from her work, and she takes advantage by allowing the weakness of her body to overcome her.

"Miss Granger!" He had intended his voice to sound loud and sharp across to her, to rouse her instantly, but he knew it had not. In reality, the sound that emerged was little more than a curious whisper. The woman did not stir.

He took a step toward her, his hand poised to shake her awake. But he hesitated.

His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed. The woman before him was completely vulnerable, so trusting. Was she stupid or brave to fall asleep in his presence? If he had found himself in this position fifteen years ago ...

His face flinched. He studied her intently. Her skin was remarkably smooth. It was the colour of the innocent side of a peach, pale and honeyed. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire and fatigue, and imparted a fertile intensity to her face. Her mouth fell open a little, and he could hear the slow pulls of breath, in, out, falling through it. Her lips were full and dark pink, a little dry from lack of moisture in sleep. He looked at the shallow little indentations, reminded of the imprint on the glass he had seen before.

His eyes flitted up to her eyes. They remained heavily lidded. She had remarkably long eyelashes, which fell onto the pale skin above her cheek.

As she lay before him in sleep, it was almost possible to forget she was real, a living breathing human. As such, he could tell himself that she was pleasant enough to look at. So pleasant in fact, that he could not take his eyes off the sight before him.

A lock of hair fell over her cheek. She flinched a little in her sleep as it tickled her. His hand was still poised to wake her. Instinctively, it moved instead, as if to brush the hair carefully off her face. He wanted to. And as he brushed it, he could lower his fingers, just to brush them lightly over her skin, that smooth pale skin. What did it feel like? It was there before him. It looked so warm, so yielding ... he could just reach out ...

Malfoy's hand moved ever closer to touching that glowing skin. He was burning with an intense curiosity to feel it. His fingers twitched ... so close ... a mere inch away.

The woman's eyes darted open, wide and alarmed.

Hermione awoke to find a pale face looming above her, framed with blonde hair, deep grey eyes, so familiar, from a time long gone ... pain ... agony ...

Her mind, blurred from sleep, had forgotten where she was, when she was. The face before her ... it meant fear, horror ... _must get away_. She screamed in terror, loud and long.

The man standing before her recoiled swiftly, standing straight and stepping several paces away.

Lucius was taken aback. The extent of the woman's fear disturbed him. Had he brought that on?

He opened his mouth, surprising himself with the instinctive words which emerged. "It is alright, Miss Granger. There is nothing to fear."

Hermione darted her head around the room, her heart beating fast and desperate within her breast. As her mind was pulled back to the present, it steadied somewhat, and she looked up at Lucius Malfoy. It was the same face, but now it had shaken off the association which had invaded her mind; the memory dredged up from so long ago.

"I'm sorry ... I'm sorry ... I must have fallen asleep ... I don't know what came over me."

"A dream, Miss Granger. A psychological relic of the past." His voice was strangely subdued.

Hermione sat up straight, her mind still heavy with thwarted slumber. Her breathing steadied and she calmed. The fog slowly clearing from her head had already suppressed the trigger for her terror. She glanced up at the man standing apart from her. He appeared uncomfortable. He had been so close to her, had he not, when she had awoken? Perhaps her mind was playing more tricks on her. She cleared her throat.

"I must go. Oh goodness, look at the time. It's nearly six. I am so sorry to impose on you, Mr Malfoy. You should have woken me."

"I had not realised how late it had become." His voice was oddly reserved. She tried to make eye contact with him; he still had his head resolutely lowered. It was so different to his usual demeanour.

"Well. I'll be back tomorrow, if that is alright."

He inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"I'll just get my stuff then."

He was standing directly between the two chairs, inadvertently blocking her way out. "Excuse me, Mr Malfoy."

With that, the tall man came to his senses and stepped away, giving her room to pass. Hermione lowered her head and rushed from the room.

She was not entirely sure what had just transpired in the sitting room, but with her mind still confused from her interrupted sleep, the vision of the past on waking, and Malfoy's strange behaviour afterward, the atmosphere between them had changed. Hermione's skin tingled for a reason she could not quite fathom. Quickly gathering her things, she was soon out of the library and down the stairs again. She had not felt so disturbed in the house since she had arrived. But this time it was not with fear or trepidation, but with an emotion she could not identify.

As she swept down the stairs, she found Malfoy standing in the hallway. At last he was standing in his familiar way, tall and erect, his head held high and haughty. It was almost a relief.

"Well. I'll see you tomorrow then. Unless you are otherwise occupied." She looked into his eyes. He held her stare for longer than she had anticipated. Again, she could see a spark within the grey. It made her unable to look away.

"I will see you tomorrow. Goodbye, Miss Granger."

He moved to the door and held it open for her.

She moved through then turned back, her voice genuine and tender, "Goodbye, Mr Malfoy."

And she hurried out into the night. The man behind her waited until her figure had disappeared into the dark before shutting the door.

* * *

**Oh, stop disappearing into the dark! You two! You don't know what's good for you! *tuts loudly***

**LL x**


	6. Chapter 6

**Closer ... closer ...**

* * *

Hermione could not recall exactly what had woken her so violently at the Manor. She knew it had something to do with Lucius, but it was his manner afterwards which was now gnawing at her mind. She could remember at least that he had been standing very close to her when she opened her eyes and had then suddenly backed off.

Had he been about to hurt her? She could not believe that.

What then? And why had he become so diffident afterwards? She got the distinct impression that he had been examining her, studying her. And her reaction to it had been almost as disturbing as finding him there. It may have scared her, but there was no denying that it also thrilled her.

She recalled their conversation. She had been very easy with him, happy to talk about Ron and their relationship. She was not entirely sure why, but knew it had not troubled her at all. Malfoy had enough experience of his own, but he was also sufficiently distanced from the intimacy of her situation to have been, in her mind at least, the perfect ear. And he had been content to listen.

She smiled to herself. _Lucius Malfoy, content to listen to a Muggle-born._

Hermione could no longer deny that he seemed to want moments in her company, and she was more than happy to spend time with him. Even their moments of silence were interesting and rarely awkward, although she had not enjoyed eating in front of him earlier. _After all, you never looked your best when eating. _She shook her head_. What did that matter?_

Should she remind herself of who he had been? It seemed foolish at this stage. If he was willing to accept her, then she should also be prepared to move on from the past. And, as he had said, she had never personally seen him killing anybody. Perhaps, she had been too quick to judge.

Hermione ate her supper alone in her flat. She glanced around the empty room. It was personal enough, and she had made it home, but it still lacked life and soul. Malfoy Manor had been similar when she had first entered it, but the moments she had spent with Malfoy in the sitting room were intimate and enticing. She almost wished she was there now. It would be good to go back tomorrow. Space came to life through the people who moved within it, through the interaction between them.

As she wrapped herself up alone in bed that night, Hermione's mind could see only one thing - a pair of limpid grey eyes, staring out of a finely carved face; a face, she had to admit, that she rather enjoyed looking at.

* * *

When she arrived at the Manor the next day, it was not yet eight o'clock. She had to wait longer than usual on the doorstep. Grimble eventually pulled the heavy door back with his usual mutterings and moanings.

"Morning, Grimble!" Her voice sounded unnaturally bright in the darkness of the house.

"You're early."

"Am I? Sorry - is it a problem?"

The elf mumbled something indistinct, but Hermione could hear also the instruction for her to go up and get on with her work.

"And how is Mr Malfoy this morning?" She was not sure why she had asked it.

"My master is not here."

Hermione stopped dead before remembering to move on. "Oh."

The force of her disappointment surprised her. Malfoy had assured her of his being there only the night before.

She glanced at Grimble; the elf had a snide smirk on his face. She turned away and headed off, trying to mask her reaction. But it was impossible. At the foot of the stairs, she looked back. "And when is he to return?"

Grimble's sneer deepened.

"He is due back in an hour or so."

"I see. I'll ... get on with my work then."

The elf glared one final time before disappearing into the depths of the house.

Hermione went into the library, shutting the door behind her and leaning against it with a sigh. The extent of her feelings surprised her. Coupled with disappointment was the undeniable relief she had felt when he had said Malfoy would be back soon. Hermione shook herself and immediately settled down to work. _She was alone in the vast house. She missed the company of anyone to whom she had become accustomed, that was all._

After working diligently for two hours, she at last allowed herself a break and was pleased to note that she could not recall thinking about the house's owner once in that time.

She needed the loo. The bathroom was just down the hallway. It was one of the few forays she ever made out of the library. She hurried from the room and turned along the landing. She practically ran into Lucius, coming along the other way.

Hermione looked up in surprise and knew her cheeks had reddened. "Oh! Hello! Good morning." She swallowed hard.

"Good morning, Miss Granger."

Malfoy had clearly just returned from outside; walking, riding possibly. He had outdoor clothes on, not his usual robes, although he was still clad entirely in black. His hair was dishevelled and his cheeks were slightly flushed from exertion. She was surprised to see him like that but not displeased. He looked completely human.

"How are you today, Mr Malfoy?" Her enquiry was entirely genuine.

"Well, Miss Granger." He paused then fixed his eyes into hers. "And you?"

"Good, thank you ... all refreshed for another day!" She laughed at her cheesy comment, her eyes dancing. He noted it.

Hermione's laughter subsided. Malfoy stood before her. Neither moved. She wanted to say something to him but was not sure what. It was he who broke the silence.

"Have you brought your lunch today? Grimble can provide you with something if you wish."

"Thank you but I have plenty."

He nodded but did not move away. She took a step along the corridor. "Excuse me. I need to ..." Hermione didn't finish her sentence and lowered her head, giggling softly in embarrassment.

She started to walk past him but stopped and turned back. He hadn't moved and was watching her as she went.

"Mr Malfoy?" His eyebrow rose to acknowledge her enquiry. "Would you mind if I took a walk in your grounds occasionally? It can be quite stifling inside all day, and you have such beautiful gardens."

He did not at first respond and she feared she had asked too much. His features were tense and he averted his eyes. Then suddenly he looked back at her and spoke, calm and clear, "Of course, Miss Granger."

She smiled. "Thank you. I'd like that very much." She took a few steps down the corridor.

"Miss Granger!" His voice was sudden and insistent. Hermione looked back in surprise. "I shall accompany you around the immediate grounds after lunch. It will be worthwhile having a guide on your first visit to the gardens. They can be disorientating. Be in the hall at half past one." With that Malfoy strode swiftly past her and disappeared down a dark corridor.

Hermione stood looking after him. As he vanished from view, she felt her mouth forming into a smile. There was no doubting he was looking for opportunities to spend time with her. And she was more than happy to oblige. He fascinated her. Malfoy was a complex, intelligent man, who seemed to be confronting the issues of his past beliefs, if not deconstructing them.

Lunch could not come soon enough.

At one o'clock she ate her sandwich quickly. It only took her a few minutes. She daren't go downstairs before half past. She tried to sort through a few more books but found herself unable to focus on them.

At last it was a few minutes before half past. She wrapped up in her coat and scarf and went downstairs as casually as she could.

The hall was empty. Her footsteps resounded in the echoing space. Then, just as the clock struck the half hour, Malfoy appeared out of the gloom. He was once again dressed entirely in black with the exception of a pure white cashmere scarf coiled around his neck. It complemented and highlighted his hair, imparting a further radiance to it. In his right hand he held his cane. Hermione glanced at it. She associated the object so much with his past that she found herself taking an instinctive step back from him. But then she stopped herself and stood tall, lifting her eyes to his. He cocked an eyebrow. His face had lost the somewhat gaunt quality he had exhibited when she first had arrived at the manor, and his eyes were alight as he looked across at her. She had never seen anyone look so effortlessly elegant and at ease with their own physical presence. Not only did it appeal to her own aesthetic values, she was also pleased to see him regaining some of the self-assurance he had lost. Her unease over the cane vanished.

"Mr Malfoy. Good afternoon." She surprised herself at how assured she sounded; flirtatious even.

"Miss Granger." The arrogant drawl of old was back. But instead of intimidating her, she found it heightening her confidence.

Hermione glanced down at his cane again. "Do you still keep your wand in there?"

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow, then in a swift and fluid movement, withdrew his wand elegantly from within the cane. He took a step towards her and held it up so that it was pointing directly at her. He locked eyes with her for a moment, a slight smirk tickling the corners of his mouth. She inhaled deeply but silently and held his gaze steadily, not showing the alarm which had suddenly gripped her. Malfoy's eyes moved to his wand, and he frowned slightly in an exaggerated show of studying it.

"Apparently so." She had never heard two words spoken so smooth and low. She swallowed hard. 'It is a replacement. The other was ... broken.'

His eyes moved back to hers, and with a deepening of the smile, he replaced his wand as swiftly and smoothly as he had retracted it, back into the cane. Then with his free arm, he swept his hand out to the side, indicating for her to walk. "Shall we?"

Hermione lowered her head and allowed herself to be guided by him. He led her along dark corridors and through gloomy, vast rooms towards the back of the house. Hermione could detect great tapestries, ornate furniture, beautiful paintings adorning every inch of space, but none were in a state to be examined. All were hidden under the pall of darkness which pervaded the house. Malfoy walked purposefully until he came to some large oak doors in a drawing room of some kind. After turning several locks, as well as incanting a few spells, he was able to turn the great handle, and slowly one side of the enormous doors opened.

Light flooded the room, and Hermione saw details she longed to study, but her eye was equally drawn outside. The gardens were vast, and on the whole, still well landscaped and maintained to a reasonable standard. It was a freezing day in early December and the frosty air smelt clean and sharp, tinged with the soothing balm of wood smoke. Hermione stepped through, almost forgetting her place, and breathed in deep.

She shut her eyes and inhaled, then opened them again. A long rectangular pond stretched away from her, dropping out of sight onto a lower terrace, then again onto another. On either side of the pond were hedges, trimmed and shaped into intricate patterns. Despite the absence of summer colour, the gardens were still rich and invigorating. A broad grin broke out on Hermione's face.

"Glorious."

Malfoy grimaced and muttered under his breath, "I really must employ more grounds staff. The place is shabby."

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. "Why the sudden concern for your gardens, Mr Malfoy? You don't seem to be bothered about the interior of your house."

He sneered. "That remains largely unchanged with minimal maintenance. Gardens, on the other hand, require a more dynamic approach."

Hermione cast her eyes over the lawns again. As she studied them, she could indeed see weeds growing in the beds and suspected that if growth had not been paralysed by the season that the hedges would indeed be overgrown and lacking care.

"May I go down there?" She said, pointing to a walled garden off to the right.

"Hmm." He strode ahead of her, leading the way.

They walked along paths, gravel crunching under their feet. Hermione shivered.

"Are you cold, Miss Granger?"

"It doesn't matter. My body's just adjusting to being outdoors. I've been shut up in there for too long."

"In _there_?"

"Yes. We all need to get out sometimes. As you did this morning."

He didn't at first say anything, but then the cold air was pierced byhis voice. "I did not go far."

"It's of no matter to me where you went, Mr Malfoy."

"Indeed."

Silence. They reached the walled garden. Hermione almost raced in. It was like something from a fairy tale. There were some rose bushes, and several small trees, which in the spring would be covered in blossom. The garden was overgrown but this gave it further charm which delighted Hermione. She ran through it, ducking under overhanging branches and rushing along the paths.

Malfoy watched her carefully. The woman was more alive than anything he could remember witnessing for some time.

At length she returned to where Malfoy stood, her cheeks flushed from the cold and her race around the paths. She smiled up at him, standing impenetrably before her. His mouth was set straight, but she thought she could see a warmth in his eyes, which was usually absent.

"This is a perfect place," she beamed up at him.

"That is a matter of opinion."

"Clearly. Alright then - this is a perfect place ... _for me."_

She waited for him to speak again. He did not. She turned away from him to look back into the garden. "You must send your gardener here first. In the spring this place should be singing with new life and magic. It will be beautiful."

"Ah, but you will not be here to experience it, so it is futile for you to preoccupy your mind with worrying about it."

"You can experience it."

"I fear I would not appreciate it in the same manner as you."

He was trying to be sarcastic but she could detect genuine remorse in his tone. Hermione looked up at him. He slowly lowered his eyes into hers. She felt a jolt deep inside. Malfoy did not look away. She knew she was becoming increasingly red.

Hermione swiftly dropped her head and walked to the gate. "Come along then. Where next?"

After a moment of silence, he lowered the tip of his cane to the ground and walked past her.

They continued on, strolling contentedly through high hedges, low borders and orchards. Malfoy kept up a running commentary most of the time. He was remarkably knowledgeable about his grounds and frequently punctuated his discourse with an exclamation of annoyance at how neglected the gardens were looking. It gave Hermione a feeling of satisfaction to know that he was apparently admitting his own lack of care. He seemed to have reached a turning point. She felt a certain pride that it seemed to be due to her. She dared to speak boldly again.

"Don't you get lonely, Mr Malfoy?"

No answer. But whereas before she would have feared his reaction, now she just waited. He often took time to respond to a question.

"I did not think so."

"_Did_ not?"

"After all that happened, I seemed to need some time to ... reacquaint ... myself with who I was. That is best achieved alone."

She waited before asking, "And who are you?"

He stopped and looked down at her, annoyance clear on his face but not anger. "What an inquisitive little thing you are, Miss Granger."

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"I am fully aware of that." He turned to continue walking. It seemed he was not going to answer.

Hermione was not deterred. "Self-analysis is often not the best way to understand oneself. Other people's views and perspectives tend to draw things into focus more effectively than hours of sitting alone contemplating one's navel."

"Again, you astound me with your articulacy." The sarcastic twang amused her. She smiled. They continued walking in silence.

"You said, you _did_ not think so. Does that mean you do now think you get lonely?"

"I think I have recently come to a clearer understanding of what being lonely means."

She stopped and looked up at him. He met her eyes for a moment, then looked beyond her. She was touched by his openness.

"I like our little chats, Mr Malfoy."

He stopped abruptly, his face tense. _Why did she insist on this conviviality?_ He wanted to deny her, to contradict her claim. He opened his mouth, intending to quash her notion but no words emerged. But he certainly would not acknowledge that he too gained from their dialogue, that he did in fact look forward to the moments he could converse with her, that he created opportunities for it to happen.

The woman was looking up at him, those deep brown eyes dancing in the midst of the smooth, pale skin, the skin he had so longed to touch yesterday. Her soft breath rose from her full dark lips in regular misty clouds, floating up towards him. He could not help inhaling. She smelt so sweet. _Why had his throat suddenly become so dry?_

Malfoy turned away swiftly. "You have a great deal to do. Let us return." He walked away, his cane digging into the gravel as he went. Hermione looked after him. Despite the frosty air temperature, she was feeling remarkably warm.

He had walked rapidly ahead of her, and by the time she reached the house, he was standing in the hallway. He did not meet her gaze.

"Thank you for showing me the gardens. I'll go back up for a few hours."

"Very well." He sounded terse. She knew she had tested him but was pleased he had not reacted more aggressively.

Hermione made her way back to the library. Lucius retreated to the sitting room.

He immediately poured himself a large drink, and slumped into the chair before the fire.

_'Like our little chats!'_

_How presumptuous the woman was!_

But the truth remained. He _was_ chatting to her, and although he would never admit it to her, he too was enjoying it. But it was the nature of the chats that he found disarming. Both he and the Muggle-born seemed incapable of small talk. Whenever they conversed, they invariably asked searching and personal questions designed to elicit deep answers. Why couldn't they just talk about the weather like every other good Englishman, for Merlin's sake? He tutted loudly and took a large swig of whisky.

Time ticked away. He heard the clock strike quarter to. It was nearly five. She would go imminently. He listened for her footsteps. The ticking of the clock drove him mad.

Then Lucius Malfoy stood and strode to the door. He was out of it and up the stairs more rapidly than he had moved for an age.

He swept hard along the corridor and flung open the door to the library.

Hermione screamed again and spun around, her eyes wide in shock.

"For God's sake, stop doing that!"

_What did the woman mean?_ "What?"

"Snea ..." She stopped herself and rethought her words. "Coming up behind me unannounced. You could at least knock."

The eyebrow was up again. "This is my own home, Miss Granger. I am not accustomed to having to knock within it."

"Well ... even so ... I mean ..." She was clearly frustrated. Her cheeks were flushed and she flailed her hands around in an attempt to express herself. He could only admit that she was appealing to look at. Some people would even find her beautiful, he imagined. She at last found more words. "It's just common courtesy."

Malfoy continued to look across at her. He was still standing in the doorway, and without moving his eyes from her, he raised his arm behind the door and knocked slowly and distinctly three times.

Hermione exhaled an embarrassed laugh and hung her head, her cheeks flushing yet further.

_Yes, some people would certainly find her beautiful._

Hermione looked across. The tall man in the doorway had that same smirk on his face she had seen earlier. It suited him, she thought.

Malfoy did not move into the room. She waited. He seemed to have forgotten why he was there.

"What can I do for you, Mr Malfoy?"

With that, Malfoy inhaled deeply and turned his gaze away from her. He stepped a little inside.

"Miss Granger. Do you intend to return here tomorrow?"

"I will if that is alright with you."

"Hm. In that case, may I suggest you stay the night? Apparition can be disorientating and debilitating if done too frequently. There seems little point in you returning to your house at this time only to return first thing tomorrow."

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. He stared back.

"I have to feed my cat."

Silence. They continued looking awkwardly at each other.

"Oh."

Something flicked across his face. It reminded her of disappointment. He turned to go without another word.

"Mr Malfoy!"

He stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

"On second thoughts, she has enough to last her until tomorrow night. She usually sneaks into my neighbour's house for some extras anyway. I ... I think I'll accept your offer. Thank you."

The lines around his mouth seemed to soften. "Very well. I shall tell Grimble to prepare you a room." He moved out, then stopped and looked back at her with that increasingly tangible smirk. "My room is located in another wing, far from where you will be ... in case you were wondering if old habits really do die hard." The smirk deepened a little, then he was gone.

Hermione sat down on the wooden chair she worked at with a thud. Had he really just asked her to stay the night? She looked around her. She had started to pack away her things. Should she now continue? Was he expecting her to go downstairs? Her questions were answered a short time later when Grimble appeared at the door.

"I am to show you to your room."

The elf stepped out into the corridor. Hermione quickly gathered up the things she needed and hurried after him. She followed Grimble, who was walking surprisingly rapidly for such a little being, through long corridors, up stairs, into doorways. She did not have a moment to take in any details, but everywhere she went, as with downstairs, the walls were hung with portraits and tapestries. Fine furniture adorned corners and alcoves. But still, Hermione noted, cobwebs clung to them and windows remained boarded up. The feeling of melancholy permeated into her, and she lowered her head, walking rapidly on after Grimble.

At last, they came to a large door. The elf opened it and motioned her in. Hermione was standing in a large and graciously decorated room. It had a four-poster bed, and a fire crackled welcomingly in the hearth. In the middle of the room was a table, set out with a meal for her. This room, at least, had clearly been cleaned immaculately.

"Grimble, you really do surpass yourself with your cooking. Thank you so much."

The elf looked up at her with the same expression of icy disdain she had witnessed when she first arrived. "I am only doing as I am bid. The bathroom is in there. You should find everything you need. If you do require anything else you are to call me. Use the '_servicio_' charm and I will come up." He walked to the door, but just before he left, he turned back with a sly smile. "Oh ... and I wouldn't go wandering around in the night, if I were you. In this house, it's very easy to get ... lost."

When the door had shut firmly, Hermione fell back onto the bed with a giggle. If she had to have an unexpected stopover somewhere, this would do very nicely. She ran her hands over the rich coverings on the bed. All semblance of faded neglect had been swept from this room; deep magic had clearly been used to get it ready for her in such a short time. At length, she got up and sat at the small table to eat her supper.

As she ate, she was aware that Lucius Malfoy was somewhere in the house, perhaps eating his own supper. But she had little desire to put Grimble's warning to the test. For now, she was quite content to eat and sleep.

As she went to the bathroom to wash, she found a silk nightdress hanging on the back of the door. She frowned in surprise, wondering if it had belonged to another woman, most likely Narcissa. But she noticed a label still tied to the shoulder strap. It had probably been left there to indicate to her the truth - it was brand new.

Hermione got ready for bed and slipped it on. The silk fell smooth and warm over her skin, sliding down along her curves. She climbed into bed and waved her wand to put the fire out. She glanced a final time around the room, then blew her candle out. As she nestled down into the soft sheets, an owl hooted outside. She listened for any further sounds, but there were none. The house, as ever, was silent. For once, she was happy to melt into it. Before she allowed sleep to carry her away, she briefly wondered where exactly Lucius Malfoy's bedroom was in relation to hers.

* * *

On the other side of the house, the owner of Malfoy Manor lay awake, staring into the darkness.

_There was a Muggle-born asleep in his house._

But instead of the revulsion he expected to feel, he found himself instead wondering what her preferred sleeping position was.

* * *

**Oh, Lucius.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Here we are ... Thanks, as ever, for all your lovely reviews.**

* * *

On waking the next day, Hermione initially forgot where she was. Her limbs moved before she opened her eyes and ran leisurely over the rich velvets and silks surrounding her. She could not remember a time recently when she had slept better. It was only as her foggy mind cleared that she recalled being invited to sleep in Malfoy Manor. Her hand came up to rub over her closed eyelids, partly to wake her up, partly in confused disbelief. How had Lucius Malfoy tolerated having her sleep under his roof?

There was a knock at her door. She tensed in surprise and pulled the covers tight up under her chin before calling hesitantly, "Come in." The door opened and Grimble shuffled in with a tray, his head resolutely lowered, muttering indistinctly as usual. They tray contained tea and biscuits. The elf placed it on the bedside table.

"Breakfast is served in the kitchen. Half an hour." He turned his back and left.

"Thank you, Grimble," Hermione managed to call after his retreating form. The door shut with a resounding thud. She could not help a little chuckle at his predictability. Still, neither could she dispute the thoughtfulness which had accompanied the gesture. She knew he would only have been doing as requested by Malfoy.

Hermione got up and pulled back the curtains at the high windows. The pale light of late dawn apologetically inched its way into the darkness around her. She looked over the gardens, recalling the walk she had taken there with Malfoy the day before. She could just see the little walled garden from the window. A smile formed on her lips.

After showering and dressing, she made her way tentatively downstairs. Would Malfoy join her for breakfast? She could not imagine him eating in the kitchen - the servants' area. On entering the vast room, it seemed she was right. The table was laid only for one and there was no sign of the house's owner. This time, Hermione acknowledged her disappointment.

As she ate, Hermione looked about. It was a magnificent room but something was missing. It lacked vitality and humanity. The large coppers and pots that adorned the beams and shelves seemed to be there merely under sufferance. Hermione doubted that the Malfoys would have ever allowed their guests into a kitchen, but she could well imagine a party here now, with the room thronging with conversation and life. She bent her head to her cereal again.

There was a noise in the doorway. Expecting to see Grimble, she glanced up only to find Malfoy standing there, his tall frame silhouetted in the doorway.

"Hello," she smiled instinctively and naturally.

"I trust you slept well?" His words came smoothly.

"Very well. Thank you so much. I haven't had such a good night's sleep for the longest time."

"Hmm." It seemed to come as no surprise to him. The reminder of his arrogant approach to all aspects of life made her smirk. He noticed.

"What is it, Miss Granger?"

"Nothing."

"You seem to be finding something amusing. Pray enlighten me as to what."

She was not sure what to say and shuffled around her brain trying to find a reason. She spoke without thinking fully. "I thought you were Grimble. It's good to see you, that's all."

Hermione froze. She heard the words only after they had already been placed in the air between them from where they could no longer be removed. Her face immediately burned with clear embarrassment. She dared not look up at him. Hermione gripped her spoon and set about eating the few remaining cornflakes in her bowl with unnecessary conviction and concentration.

Lucius Malfoy stared down at her. Was he affronted that the Muggle-born had expressed a liking for his company? He looked at the woman sitting in his kitchen.

Her hair was falling down around her but only partially masked the flush which had rapidly spread over her smooth skin. She was staring intently into the bowl. He knew she had not intended to say what she had.

But instead of anger, he felt merely a warm glow easing the tension which was usually present in his chest. He exhaled deeply.

Hermione had finished her cereal. She pushed her chair back quickly with a scrape and moved to the sink, desperate to get out of the situation she had made for herself.

Malfoy stepped forward to take her bowl from her. She had nearly reached the sink and leaned forward to place the bowl down. He reached for it at the same time and all at once found himself with his hand gripping not only the bowl but the woman's fingers.

Hermione looked down at the point of contact. It was as if her hand was suddenly a far larger and more significant part of her body. She could focus only on it and the firm, warm fingers which encompassed it. She took in every detail, as if his was the first hand she had ever laid eyes on. It was strong and large, his fingers smooth, with only a few fine hairs on the back, and ending in short, neat nails. He did not remove it.

Lucius Malfoy too was staring down. Under his touch was a small, tender hand, but a hand which contained such strength, such power. Had he ever before even touched a Mudblood? He had not. Strange, it felt the same as touching the noblest Pureblood. The warmth he had felt in his body earlier now seemed to be coursing through his limbs from their point of contact.

_This felt better than touching a Pureblood._

Hermione needed to breathe. They seemed to have been standing there for minutes, silently, staring at their hands. Her mind snapped to and she mumbled softly, "Sorry."

Her words pulled Malfoy back and he said, almost as low, "Allow me."

With that, Hermione moved her hand out from under his and allowed him to take hold of the bowl. She stepped back quickly, almost stumbling. "Thank you."

And not looking at him again, Hermione rushed out of the kitchen and up to the library.

Lucius Malfoy stayed at the sink for some time after her departure.

* * *

In the next few days Hermione did not see so much of Malfoy. She admitted to herself that this may well not have been deliberate on his part but rather hers. The incident in the kitchen had disturbed her.

She was happy to admit that his conversation and personality interested her, that she enjoyed trying to get him to talk, to confront his prejudices, but he was still Lucius Malfoy, Pureblood bigot, Death Eater.

In the absence of anyone else to converse with, she had enjoyed his company as a break from her work. That was all.

_That was all._

So why could she still feel his fingers resting over hers? Why had the smooth strength they contained remained in her body? Why was it she could not shake the image of his hand on hers from her mind?

Hermione threw herself into her work, determined to get through it as soon as possible.

* * *

For his part, Lucius Malfoy did not go out of his way to avoid the Muggle-born, but he noticed her reluctance to engage him in conversation. On the occasions he suggested tea, she had politely declined, mumbling about being in the middle of a particularly tricky text.

He had grown used to her conversation, to her company.

The situation was frustrating.

It had started with the incident in the kitchen. At the time, he had tried to dismiss the significance of it, had thought he had. But when he touched her hand, her fingers had been soft and tender but remarkably assured. He looked down at his own hand, picturing it resting atop her small fingers.

_Soft and tender._

_And warm._

He had been without human contact for so long.

_Soft and tender and warm._

Lucius Malfoy drew himself up, crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky. He took out his wand and waved it towards a cabinet. The soothing tones of Schubert's String Quintet floated into the room. He breathed deeply, took a sip of his whisky and went to sit down. Picking up his book, he opened it and frowned at the words in concentration, determined to expunge the sight and feel of the Granger woman from his mind.

* * *

Over a week had passed since Hermione had stayed the night and eaten breakfast in his kitchen. She had been working like a demon and had by now got through three of the high bookcases that stood in the room. There were still half a dozen to go. And then there were the bookshelves lining the walls. She had catalogued several texts she found on her way, some requiring careful reading and documenting. What she had done so far seemed quite an achievement, but when she looked back into the room, she realised that she still had much of the mountain left to climb.

Hermione convinced herself that she had got over the incident in the kitchen, once again telling herself that it was simply due to the solitude of her task in the house. Despite not seeing Malfoy as much, the tense atmosphere which had pervaded the entire house when she had first arrived was largely dispersed. She did indeed enjoy her job and each day was anticipated with eagerness. There was no doubting her contentment and interest in her surroundings.

Over the next few days she further relaxed her self-imposed exile from Malfoy.

_It had been a foolish reaction._

She did not wish the tension which had tainted the house on her arrival to spread miserably through Malfoy Manor again. She began greeting him more warmly, occasionally taking tea once more. On those occasions their conversation, although never lengthy, was compelling and informative. Their minds seemed to operate on a similar level. They would discuss magical theory, history, the state of the Ministry, the latest books they had read. Both seemed keen to steer the conversation clear of personal matters for now, unlike early on. Hermione was happy with this.

She felt safer that way. Not from Malfoy but from herself.

Time eased her mind and she worked assiduously in the library but would often break her routine with walks in the grounds. While in the library, Grimble frequently but silently would now bring her refreshments.

Malfoy himself occasionally came into the library, asking her about her progress, sometimes suggesting something helpful. Initially, it had surprised her. Despite her intentions, and what she had assumed would be his, she and Malfoy still seemed to be spending time together. But there were no repeats of the moment of intimacy between them in the kitchen, and Hermione convinced herself that she had read far more into it than was necessary. He was still the haughty, disdainful Pureblood. His arrogant, self-assured intellectualism was at once interesting and strangely comforting. It was what she expected.

There were times when he would linger in the library, reading, taking notes from various texts. Hermione was always bold enough to ask what he was doing but rarely got a complete answer. It was enough. She was happy to have his companionable silence and occasional discourse. They both seemed completely relaxed in each other's company.

When absorbed in her work, she did not notice the blond man's eyes rising from his book and looking across at her, studying her face or her hands.

* * *

Several weeks after first arriving at the Manor, Hermione one day found herself in her usual place, working alone.

She had climbed a ladder to reach the books she was studying and was teetering precariously to reach the furthest volumes. She brought them down five at a time and placed them on the table she had set aside for her work. As she reached for one, she noticed a large, beautifully bound book protruding further out than the others. It immediately intrigued her and she leaned in to grasp it, taking it down carefully, a sense of wonder gripping her before she had even realised what it was. It was too heavy to look at standing atop a wobbly ladder, so she brought it down and placed it on the table.

It was a large book, almost a foot long and nearly as broad. It was at least three inches thick, bound in thick, dark red leather, into which was embossed gilded text. An intricate pattern of interweaving vines chased around the edge. The writing was clearly several hundred years old and was in a script that Hermione could hardly decipher. She peered at it keenly and was eventually able to make out the words: 'The Book of Desire'.

She took a step back. She could not detect any dark forces emanating from the book, but it disturbed her nonetheless. There was a power within which transmitted to her in a way she was unused to, but she somehow knew it was tapping into her deepest fears and needs.

As she reached to open it, Hermione noticed her fingers trembling uncontrollably. She swallowed hard and clenched her fist, controlling her nerves. Slowly, she pulled back the heavy cover. Inside was more of the same script, again with the words 'The Book of Desire' inscribed across the thick parchment. She turned several more pages. Her eyes were met by the most beautiful illuminated text. Gilded letters and vivid ornate words filled the left hand page. She thought it looked much like a medieval religious text, but when Hermione glanced at the illustration adorning the opposing page, she realised that she could not be further from the truth. Her breath hitched a tingling heat crept over her skin. She was looking at an image of sheer erotic delight.

The image depicted two people, a man and a woman, closely entwined in an act of sexual union. They were engaged in a passionate kiss, their limbs encircling the others, lying on what seemed to be a carpet of flowers. But there was nothing lascivious or pornographic about the image. It was one of the most beautiful and pure pictures Hermione had ever seen. She turned to the next page. A similar sight met her. This time the couple was standing beside a stream, still naked, still joined in sexual union. Hermione turned her attention to the text. It detailed the acts depicted, but in the most exquisitely sensual and romantic way. It was written in verse and the poetry struck her as sublime. She turned the pages, on each one she was met by a similar but uniquely exquisite picture and accompanying verse, each one drawn by hand, each one gilded, painted in the finest details. She found herself entranced, unable to look away.

"And what have you there, Miss Granger?"

She reeled in shock and horror, turning her back on the book but unable in her confusion to shut it.

Malfoy was standing a few feet away, a look of haughty curiosity on his face.

"It's nothing - I just thought I'd better take a look in case ..."

Hermione was trying to hide the book behind her but knew how obvious her discomfort was. Malfoy glanced over her shoulder and she saw a brief flicker of awareness pass across his features.

"The Book of Desire."

She swallowed. Her belly churned in embarrassment. He moved his eyes to hers. Her discomfort worsened.

"Intriguing, Miss Granger. Are you in the habit of reading such books?"

"No! I just ... it was just ... I happened to ..."

"As I recall, that book was kept on a very remote shelf. It is not associated in any way with the Dark Arts. Quite the opposite in fact. It is about love, desire ... passion. It should be of no interest to you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what it was. It just looked very beautiful. I thought it may be significant."

He was walking towards her all the time. Hermione's skin was alight. Her mind reeled and she gripped the table behind her to steady herself. Malfoy was now beside her and was looking down at the book open on the table.

"This book has been in my family for many generations."

She was surprised by how calm he sounded. They had discussed things of intellectual curiosity before. Why not now? Calming herself a little, she turned around to look at it with him, quickly turning the page to an image that was not so explicit. Still, it depicted a couple in an ardent embrace, although at least this time there were no obvious bodily parts on display.

Hermione's academic interests soon overrode her embarrassment and she found herself discussing it with confidence. A detailed conversation would at least take her mind off other things.

"The illumination is exquisite. I have only ever seen religious texts of this kind before. This is quite extraordinary. Is it a magical book? I can see no reference to magic in it."

"There are few obvious spells or references to potions or suchlike, but it is still at heart a magical text. The magic is contained in the fulfilment of the verses." He paused briefly before continuing low. "If one achieves the purest sexual union through the words, one will realise the deepest magic."

She blushed scarlet at his words and lowered her head, unable to speak. At length, she said hesitantly, "I wasn't sure it was magical because the pictures don't move."

"Yes, they do."

She looked up. "But ..."

In her mind she was picturing his hand on hers in the kitchen.

"This book is to be shared. It will only reveal all its secrets when read by two people who could be joined in physical union." He turned to stare down at her, his cool grey eyes burning into hers. "This is a book for lovers, Miss Granger."

Hermione found herself unable to look away, the ache which had nagged at her insides since he had walked into the room shifting somewhat into something else, something she could no longer deny, but dared not admit, the same feeling she had experienced in his kitchen, only now magnified intensely. She averted her eyes swiftly.

She could feel his presence tall and vital beside her, feel the heat emanating from his person. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow. She thought he would go, hoped he would, needed him to. He did not.

"Place your hand on the image, Miss Granger."

She had never heard his voice so calm, so smooth. She had no hesitation in doing as he bid. Her fingers came out and touched the thick parchment, feeling its warm, smooth texture under them. And then she watched, mesmerised, frozen, as he moved his own hand towards hers.

_She wanted it again. It had felt so good before. She admitted it now._

At last, his long, strong fingers reached atop her hand and slid slowly down between her knuckles until his palm rested completely on top, his fingers in between hers. She inhaled sharply.

Immediately the image on the page came to life. The couple moved and swayed in the deepest throws of passion, their arms clutching, stroking along the other, their kiss ardent and longing. Hermione had never seen such a sensuous depiction of love. It took her breath away. Her eyes remained lowered, staring down at what was before her. But after a while, her gaze was not directed at the picture, but at the large hand placed firmly over hers. She felt the smooth skin, detected the strength contained in the long fingers, just as she had before. She could not prevent herself moving her hand under his a little, reinforcing his touch. He did not flinch away.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered out, at last looking up at him.

He held her gaze. "Yes."

They continued to lock eyes. Hermione could detect none of the animosity, none of the malice which had previously been contained in his. Instead, his eyes were alight, staring deep into her soul. Again, she could hardly breathe.

And then, with a sharp inhalation, Malfoy pulled his hand away and stood back from her.

"There we are. I suggest you replace the book now, Miss Granger. It is of no use to your work."

Hermione swayed. The sudden removal of his hands and the breaking of the moment made her reel. She looked down, mumbling, "Of course."

Still, he did not move. She raised her head slowly back to him. He now looked confused, distressed even. He glanced across at her. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, he had swept out of the room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Hermione staggered, falling against the table for support. One hand came up to hold her forehead; she was so dizzy. She slumped into the chair. The book was still open before her, the image that had been moving so sensuously moments before now still.

She reached over and placed her hand on it once again. Nothing happened. But her hand remained there. She stared hard at it, picturing, feeling his hand clasping it, his long fingers resting in between hers, his smooth palm pressing down onto her.

What had sent the thrill coursing through her so violently? Had it been the image on the page? His hand atop hers?

Or the coming together of both - emotional and physical.

She pulled her hand away and shut the book quickly.

_The Book of Desire._

The title stared out of her, daring her to acknowledge the truth of her reaction.

She pressed her fingers into her eyes, rubbing them hard, as if to wipe out the feelings and images that were raging through her.

She could not. In her mind, Malfoy was standing so close to her as to infuse her with his heat and aroma, his hand was pressing down on hers, the illustration before them moving, two lovers embracing, caressing, kissing, feeling each other.

Her eyes remained tightly shut, and then the image in her mind changed. His hand moved up from hers, running up her arm, then crossing to her waist, encircling it - those long, strong fingers so warm and tactile on her smooth body. His other hand was up at her neck, stroking her hair away from her neck, before his head lowered, down, down to that needy flesh at the rise of her throat.

Hermione jerked her eyes open, grabbed the book, mounted the ladder so fast she nearly fell and replaced it firmly in the gap it had vacated.

Then returning to her things, she gathered them quickly and practically ran from the room. She raced down the stairs but before she could reach the bottom, Malfoy had stepped out of the sitting room, almost blocking her path to the door.

"I have to go. I had forgotten I have a meeting to get to."

She almost pushed past him in her attempt to get to the door. She did not look up.

"When will you be back?" His voice sounded apprehensive.

"I don't know ... I have other things to do."

She opened the door.

"But you will return?" She could not deny that he now sounded almost fearful. Hermione at last turned to look at him. His tall nobility still dominated the hallway, but his eyes stared at her with an almost painful intensity.

Despite reason telling her to run, get out, hide from these feelings tormenting her very soul, at that moment all she wanted was to rush over to him, reassure him ... embrace him ...

"Of course." Her words were all she had. She knew she could not stay away. "Tomorrow. I'll come back tomorrow."

Suddenly her hasty retreat seemed ridiculous. She wanted to stay. He wanted her to stay.

But her mind needed time. She would give herself space. That was best.

With a final look back at him, she smiled weakly and left, shutting the door hard behind her.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy stood in the hallway, wringing his hands together, hands which earlier had touched ...

The emptiness of the house consumed him suddenly and desperately. He cursed it. Cursed himself.

Cursed the Mudblood.

_Why did she have to leave so suddenly?_

He knew why. She was struggling as much as he.

He questioned himself. _Stuggling? With what was he struggling?_

The strange tension he felt in his core, the tension that eased somewhat when she was around, tightened viciously, and in an attempt to release it, he cried out, loud and hard, the noise rising violently into the darkness around him.

_Why had she ever come here?_ He knew it would lead only to misery.

But he had not expected this oppressive misery, this niggling torture which was eating away at him.

Clenching his fists hard, he strode back to the sitting room, almost colliding with Grimble on the way back.

"You fool! Watch where you are going!"

"I am sorry, Master. I came to see if you were alright. I heard a strange noise."

"Yes, yes. Do not listen in on matters that do not concern you, Grimble!" he spat to his house-elf.

"My humbles apologies, Master Lucius." The elf bowed a little, then glanced around the hallway. "Has the Granger woman gone?"

"Yes." Lucius could hardly bring himself to say it.

"Rather early for her, isn't it?"

He almost struck the elf but instead drew himself up and marched past him, shouting over his shoulder, "It is of no matter. Fetch me two bottles of the Talbot from the cellar, no - three. Make it quick."

He strode into the sitting room and slammed the door behind him, leaving his elf sneering alone in the hall.

Malfoy paced the sitting room. Why had she had to find that damned book? He had not seen it for years. He'd almost forgotten it was in the house. And yet he had known it as soon as he had seen it. Known what it was, what it did.

He had not hesitated in revealing its secrets to her.

He had wanted to.

He had wanted to touch her again, he knew that now. And to touch her while faced with those images and what they stirred in the body ...

He sat abruptly and let his head fell back. The heat from the fire poured into his limbs.

_Where was the damned elf with his wine?!_

He flicked his wand and Schubert's String Quintet drifted around him again. But it didn't soothe as it should have done; its fragile chords now merely added to his dismay.

_Curse her!_

How dare she force her way into his mind as she had?

_Her voice, her conversation_ - he could no longer deny that he enjoyed it, missed it when it was denied him.

_Her curiosity, her acceptance of him ..._

Yes, she had accepted him. Accepted him when all others had not.

He closed his eyes, hearing her voice once more, seeing her face before him, looking up with such warm delight when the image on the page began to move.

_Her face ... her eyes, her lips ... her hands ..._

The door opened and Grimble entered with the wine.

"Fool! Did no one ever tell you to knock!?"

"I am sorry, Master. I hadn't realised I was disturbing anything."

Malfoy sneered, about to speak, then shut his mouth again rapidly.

Grimble placed the bottles before Malfoy, who immediately poured himself a large glass.

"Leave me."

Grimble inclined his head and started to go. Just before he reached the door, he turned back to his master and said with a teasing sneer, "I was wondering, sir - will Miss Granger be staying the night again?"

There was a frozen silence. Malfoy slowly and coldly turned in his chair to fix his house elf with the iciest glare Grimble had ever encountered.

"Get out."

This time, the elf did not hesitate.

* * *

**More tomorrow. x**


	8. Chapter 8

**Long chapter.**

* * *

Hermione did not sleep well that night.

There was a simple explanation for it, one that she could no longer deny: she could not stop thinking about Lucius Malfoy.

And not because of his intriguing manner, dangerous past and clear intelligence.

She was attracted to him.

She was attracted to his mind, his personality, to his physical presence.

She tossed and turned all night but could not shake from her mind his fine features and cool grey eyes. He was ingrained there. In her imagination, his face was fixed in the arrogant smirk she had come to associate with him so long ago. Admittedly, it had been largely absent since she had started work at the manor, but nonetheless, that was the image that remained in her head.

But then, as she squeezed her eyes tight shut, the haughty face within her vision would descend closer to her, his dark red lips inching ever so nearer to hers. In her lonely little room, Hermione sat bolt upright and groaned in frustration.

_What a pathetic weak creature she was_.

Had all the horrors and torments she had suffered in her short life taught her nothing? She knew she was physically aware of her body's needs, she always had been, but is this what she had been reduced to - a few months denial of sex and she becomes a dribbling wreck at the sight of the first attractive man who comes her way?

_But this wasn't just any attractive man. This was Lucius Malfoy._

Her instincts, from the start, had told her to beware him, keep away from him, but when the time had come, there had been no need. He had, on the whole, been equable, polite, well-informed ... interesting. She knew better than to hold the past against someone. He had clearly been shunned by his supposed friends. She saw no reason now why this should be the case. Was she to be the only one who could tolerate him, converse with him? She - Hermione Granger?

Had the attraction arisen merely from the fact that they were two lonely people cooped up in an oppressive house?

She feared not.

As she lay in the dark of the night, silence encompassing her, she let her mind wander. It wandered far. In her fervent ramblings, she pictured herself out dining with him, going to the theatre, for walks ... as a couple. And she did not recoil from it. It seemed, she could only admit, to work.

_Work? It was ridiculous!_

She swore aloud. She couldn't entertain the idea of having a relationship with Lucius Malfoy. He alone would never conceive of it.

_Would he?_

Another groan escaped her. It had become clear that her feelings for him were not entirely unreciprocated. But that was mere convenience on his part, surely? She was a young woman in his house, the only human company he had. It made sense that he would wish to talk to her.

She was a Muggle-born, for god's sake. Once she had left his house, he would forget all about her and return to his life.

_His life._

What sort of a life was it? A worthy, fulfilled one? Hardly. For a man of his experience and intelligence there was so much more to be achieved, to be given. He just needed someone to believe in him again.

Hermione grimaced. _Why should she care?_ This was a man who had looked on while she was tortured to within an inch of her life.

_But people could change, couldn't they?_

Her brain was throwing so many insurmountable paradoxes at her that it hurt. But as she lay alone in her house, Hermione realised that her scalp itself stung with sharp pain, not just the dull throb of thinking too much. She lowered her hands, and with them came many long strands of hair; she had been twisting her fingers so hard into her head.

At four am, Hermione gave up on sleep and got up, going to the bathroom and washing her hands. She glanced down as the suds frothed over her fingers. She rubbed them hard, remembering a large, firm hand atop hers the day before. Turning off the taps quickly, she decided to try getting some work done. Unfortunately, all her work had to do with documenting the books discovered in Malfoy's library.

There seemed no escape from the man.

_It was not right that someone should consume her thoughts so powerfully._ It had not felt like this since sixth year and that pathetic hormonal turmoil with Ron. She was thirty now. There was no way she was going to go through all that rubbish again.

In the bitter desolation of that lonely and surreal time that was the earliest hours of morning, Hermione made a decision.

At the first opportunity, she would go to Kingsley and inform him she did not wish to continue working at the Manor.

* * *

She arrived at the Ministry at eight o'clock.

She should have been pleased to be back, but it felt wrong. The mundane trivialities of office tedium, the relentless grind of bureaucracy, the sea of nameless and faceless workers blotting out the existence of all but their own unimportant little tasks ... This is what she had been struggling to escape from.

And she had escaped from it. She had found her place of comfort, of security, amidst swathes of books, in a beautiful setting, where she could work uninterrupted, apart from the occasional welcome discourse with one of the most intriguing people she'd ever met.

_Strong, firm hands enclosing hers. Lips descending to her neck, arms gripping her waist._

She rubbed her eyes and pulled out a parchment relating to a matter unconnected to Malfoy Manor.

_Good._ It would all be over once she had seen Kingsley. Malfoy could have someone else to trawl through his library.

She had been unable to get an appointment with the Minister until two o'clock. Time crawled oppressively slowly. The flutter of an owl's wings and the latest gossip from the Magical Creatures Department seemed to have lost their charm. And still her mind allowed her to picture only one thing - a similar image to one she had seen in the book yesterday. But these were not anonymous, unidentifiable lovers in her head. She knew exactly who the two were. They were her and Lucius Malfoy.

At five to two, she stood abruptly and marched to Kingsley's office. Knocking once and entered, barely waiting for a response.

"Hermione!" The Minister for Magic nearly jumped. "I wasn't expecting to see you so promptly. How are you? Please sit down."

She did so quickly and proceeded to lean far forward in the chair, her foot tapping. Kingsley frowned in surprised concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you."

"How's your assignment to Malfoy Manor going? I never see you these days. Not that it's a problem, as long as everything is progressing smoothly. Is it?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak. At that moment, the door opened and Shacklebolt's PA swept in.

"Minister, these documents urgently need your signature. They are the ones you approved yesterday."

"Sorry, Hermione, excuse me a moment."

Kingsley bent over the parchments, perusing each one again before signing at the bottom.

Hermione could hear her blood pulsing round her head.

"Don't forget Minister, there is the meeting to discuss the regulation of squibs retaining magical items passed down through generations at three. It's vital you attend."

"Of course, Cynthia. Hermione, would you like to join us for that meeting? If you're not otherwise engaged, that is?"

Hermione smiled non-committally. She could go, couldn't she? It wasn't as if she had anything else to do. Her other assignment was about to end. A meeting. A normal meeting, in a bright, airy, room, all sitting comfortably around a table. With normal, boring wizards and witches, discussing squibs and their heirlooms.

A sudden feeling of nausea swept over her.

"Anyway, I'm sorry to delay you. What can I do for you?" Kingsley focused on her at last.

She didn't look at him but sat with a slight frown on her face, staring at the floor beyond him. She had hardly heard a word he had said.

"Hermione?"

At last turning her gaze to the Minister, she was almost surprised to find him there.

He leaned in with concern. "Is everything alright at the Manor? Is Malfoy treating you well?"

She stared hard at Shacklebolt for a moment more.

_What was she doing here?_

She recalled her conversation of the night before. She had assured him she would return. He needed her to. He wanted her to. She wanted to.

"Yes. Very well, thank you. In fact, I just came in to tell you that the task is fascinating. It's going smoothly but is still likely to take several weeks, if not months. So, I doubt I will be here much at all for a while longer. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to owl. Goodbye, Minister. I must be going. I'm late as it is. Mr Malfoy will be expecting me."

With that she turned and hurried from his office, leaving a dumbfounded Kingsley in his chair.

She returned to her office only to pick up her coat and bag and was outside ready to apparate within five minutes.

When the dizziness passed, she found herself once again outside the Manor.

_Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, did not quit._

She would work. She would enjoy the house, the library and his company. She was an adult. Just because there was an attraction, it did not mean she had to give into it. She would not.

Still, it was so very good to be back.

* * *

She practically raced up the drive to the steps and rang the doorbell. It was opened almost as soon as her fingers had released it.

There, standing before her, was Lucius Malfoy himself.

Hermione could not stop beaming.

He looked down at her. Hermione was sure she saw relief sweeping his face, but he soon composed himself and regained his haughty appraising stance.

"Miss Granger."

The low drawl had never been so welcome.

"Hello." She was smiling and out of breath after her run up the drive. Certainty had carried her swiftly up it.

"You are late ... I thought perhaps ..."

"What? What did you think?" She surprised herself at her own insistence.

"Your manner of departure last night was somewhat ... hasty ... I was not certain ..."

"If I would return?"

"Hm." He could bring himself to say no more.

"Why would I not have returned, Mr Malfoy?"

He looked down at her and the heat spreading through Hermione grew beyond containment. But she held her composure and kept staring up at him, daring him to voice what was on both their minds.

With a faint sigh of frustration, Malfoy answered non-committally, "Perhaps you were finding the magnitude of your task daunting. Perhaps you had ... grown tired of being here."

She did not immediately answer. His cheeks were tinged with pink.

"No, Mr Malfoy. I haven't grown tired of being here. I will complete my task, no matter how long it takes."

His breathing visibly slowed.

Neither spoke again, until at last he said abruptly, "Right. There we are then."

Another silence.

She was still panting, her exertion also clear in the flush on her face. It didn't go unnoticed.

"May I come in?"

They both seemed to have forgotten that she was still standing outside in the cold of a gathering gloom. The wind had got up and rain was starting to fall in large heavy drops. The weather was changing. Malfoy drew himself up and stepped aside for her. She entered the house. It was as dim as ever inside, but Hermione was happier to be there than she thought possible.

She turned to face him, smiling yet again.

"You are in a remarkably good mood, Miss Granger."

His eyes contained that glow she so rarely saw. But when she did, it entranced her.

"Yes, I am. I like working here. It brings a certain contentment."

The eyebrow arched predictably, but his face had softened to such an extent as to result almost in a smile.

"I see." A predictable pause. "And did it take you until now to realise that?"

"Yes."

There was yet another silence. The two people simply stood in the vast dark hallway looking at each other. After what seemed minutes, Hermione at last spoke. "So, as I like it so much, I suppose I should go and get on with said work."

"I suppose you should."

She smiled briefly before walking past him up the stairs.

"Tea at four o'clock."

Hermione stopped and looked down at him. "Thank you. I'd like that very much."

Lucius Malfoy watched her until she disappeared into the dark at the top of the stairs. It was already two thirty. Tea time was not far off. He would go and inform Grimble immediately.

* * *

Hermione was back in her library.

She shook her head and laughed to herself at the thought. _Who was she kidding? This would never be _her_ library. She would never presume ..._

But staring up at the books, she couldn't deny the sweeping happiness which again gripped her. How she had thought she could return to the mundane horror of the Ministry was beyond her. Just because someone was nice to look at, did not mean that had to influence your whole perception of a situation, did it?

_Long limbs pressed against hers, kisses planted on flushed cheeks, fingers working ever downwards ..._

She shook herself and reached for the book she had abandoned with haste yesterday. She sat and worked.

That was what she was good at.

Hermione was almost relieved when she heard the clock striking four and realised she had not been clock-watching. But she didn't want to keep him waiting, so with more haste than usual, she pushed aside the document she was writing on and hurried downstairs.

The warm smells of afternoon tea drifted out of the sitting room immediately.

"Grimble's done well again, I see," she said as she approached Malfoy, seated as ever in his chair by the fire.

"He has his uses."

_Did he sound a little aggrieved with his elf?_

He leaned over and reached for the teapot, letting it hover over her cup. "May I?"

"Please." She had never known anyone so well-mannered when they chose to be. She doubted that was the term the muggles he had tortured had used to describe him. Hermione tensed. It was rare that she visualised his past as clearly as that. But she had no wish to spoil the atmosphere around her and shook the memory off.

They sat in contented silence for some time. It was Lucius who eventually broke it. "Were you at the Ministry this morning?"

She presumed he asked it for something to say, but there seemed to be a genuine need to know in his voice.

"Yes."

"How is it these days?"

"Tedious, choking under its own bureaucracy and dull. Dull, dull, dull."

"What? Even more dull than the company of a former Death Eater and his belligerent house-elf?"

She looked up, startled for a moment, then found herself laughing aloud. He smirked a little.

"Most definitely."

"I used to spend considerable time there," continued Malfoy.

"Yes."

"No longer."

Silence.

"You could go back."

He looked into the fire, but the smirk had returned, this time with amused disdain. "I think not."

"Time has passed, Mr Malfoy. A lot of time."

"What makes you think I want to go back?" His voice had grown cold.

She shrugged with embarrassment.

He added, "If you do not find the place enthralling, why should I?"

"Well, if not to the Ministry, there are other places you could go."

The man across from her sneered.

"You have many interests. How about the theatre, or a concert or lecture of some kind?"

He didn't respond.

"If you're worried about seeing people you know, you could go to something outside the wizarding world."

His eyes widened and he turned to her with an expression of disbelief.

She was not deterred. "I could go with you, if you like."

Malfoy continued to look at her, his eyes ablaze with a significance she could not identify - it was either horror, admiration, or both.

Hermione swallowed hard. She had confused herself. Asking someone out to a concert was hardly the way to dull an attraction.

She picked up her cup and saucer and sipped her tea, relieved for once that he didn't answer her.

"I saw Draco after you had gone last night."

Now it was her turn to stare in disbelief.

"He was in need of money. That is the only reason he comes over these days. He did not announce himself. Nothing changes."

"Is he well?"

"Apparently."

"Well, that's good. It must have been lovely to see him."

Silence.

"Family is so important. He wouldn't come if he didn't want to see you. There are other ways of gaining access to funds. You are fortunate in many ways. I don't see my parents at all. They're in Australia. They don't remember me or even that they ever had a daughter. Their memories were erased after the war to protect them."

Hermione hardly ever thought about it. It was too painful.

She picked up a sandwich. A tear fell onto her hand. She hadn't realised she was crying. She fumbled for a tissue. Almost immediately, a white silk handkerchief was held out to her.

"There you are." His voice was gently tender.

"Thank you."

Apart from the low tick of the clock, there was silence. Hermione cursed herself for allowing her emotions to show so openly in front of him.

He spoke again. "I am sorry."

She looked up in surprise. The words were almost whispered across to her. He was looking at her with genuine regret on his face. It brought a dimension to his demeanour she had never before seen. In the glow of the fire, not only did he at that moment look as handsome as never before, he also looked completely human.

Hermione opened her mouth, partly to draw in more breath, partly in preparation to say something in return. But both her breath and her words stuck in her throat. There was a tension deep within her, as if an enormous weight was pressing down on her, desperate for relief. It was not due to the sadness wrought by her parents' absence.

"Thank you for the tea."

It was all her numb mind could manage. She stood to leave.

"I'll go back upstairs. There's a lot to do. I lost time today. I may stay a little longer than normal tonight, if that's alright."

He had looked away from her. He seemed disturbed, as he had the day before. He nodded once.

His hand was resting on the arm of the chair.

_He had shown her tenderness. She could reciprocate. She could reach over and touch his hand - so firm and strong. Her body was compelling her to do so._

Hermione curled her hand into a fist, and turned and walked from the room.

Lucius Malfoy was once again left alone.

He had spent the morning expecting the woman to come. She had said she would return. When she had not, it had raised those feelings of frustration in him that he had not needed for many years. The house seemed odd without her.

_Her presence. Her luminous skin, raging hair, raging mind, and tender lips._

The house had grown used to it.

_He had grown used to it._

He had put on his coat to go out, but had found himself instead pacing the halls, listening for her arrival. Lunchtime had come and gone. He hadn't eaten.

And then, just before two-thirty, the air had shifted. She was approaching, he knew it. Every fibre of magic in his being was tuned into her arrival. He was at the door practically before she had rung the bell.

And there she had been.

He had thought he would confront her, inquire with anger as to why she was so late.

But looking down on her, all resentment, all negativity had evaporated. She was there. That was all that mattered.

And she had smiled, a smile so illuminating it had dispelled the gloom of the dismal encroaching night.

How welcome it was. That he must admit to.

He picked up the sandwich she had been eating. Her teeth marks could be seen where she had bitten into a small part of it. He examined them, then took a bite from around the place she had eaten.

* * *

Hermione shut the door of the library tight behind her. She walked slowly into the room, running her hands over the books as she went. Crossing to the window, she looked out over the gardens. It had grown dark and the trees were writhing in the increasingly vicious wind. Hermione crossed her arms against the chill and stared out through the leaded glass to the walled garden. A low rumble of distant thunder juddered through her. A shiver ran down her spine. She didn't like thunder. It reminded her ...

Putting all thoughts as firmly behind her as possible, she settled at the desk and focused on her work. The minutes on the clock in the hall ticked by steadily.

The wind outside was by now howling ferociously at the very bones of the building. Hermione lit several more candles in an attempt to dispel the unease that was seeping into her soul. She glanced at her watch. It was approaching six. She must go.

With a sigh, she rose from the desk and started to prepare her things.

There was a knock behind her. She turned to find Malfoy standing there. He held himself as tall as ever but seemed unable to meet her gaze. Then, at last, he looked her firmly in the eyes and spoke.

"You will stay here tonight. Apparition or floo travel are not recommended in storms. I have instructed Grimble to ensure your room is ready."

The room was lit up by a sudden sharp flash of lightning. There was only a short pause before the following thunder resounded piercingly. Hermione flinched. She had no qualms about accepting his offer.

"Thank you."

"He will bring you supper in your room."

She was a little disappointed. Couldn't they eat together?

"Thank you."

He stood, tense, his face exhibiting a strange confusion. Then, with a nod and a curt, "Good evening, Miss Granger," he turned and left.

"Good evening," she muttered after his retreating form.

Hermione stayed and worked for a while longer, then at seven retired to the same room she had slept in before. She remembered the way with remarkable ease. It didn't strike her as being quite so distantly buried in the depths of the house as it had before.

Supper was waiting for her - thick homemade soup, bread, cheese and salad. A bottle of wine accompanied it. After finishing her food, Hermione ran a long bath, soaking in the soothing heat of the water for some time before wrapping a thick towel around her and climbing into the large, high bed. The room, despite its location and history, was comforting and calming in the midst of the ferocious tempest raging outside its walls. She poured herself her third glass from the bottle and settled down to read. The storm continued unabated outside. Each crack of thunder rattled her soul, but here at least, however strange, she felt safe.

At eleven, Hermione got up quickly to brush her teeth, then hurried back into the bed, blew out the remaining candle, and snuggled down to sleep. It took a while but at length she found herself slipping into her dreams.

She slept undisturbed for some time.

But then her dreams shifted.

_She was running. Someone was laughing. Not a warm laugh of shared humour, but manic, shrill, all too familiar._

_Hermione ran on. The walls were dark, wooden, images adorned them, faces she couldn't make out, staring with dead eyes. She ran on, turning endless corridors, relieved that at the end of each, there was always another. Still, the laugh behind her followed._

_And then no more corridors. Nowhere to go._

_She spun around. The laugh was closer, the hand raised. Bellatrix's face was indistinct, hidden behind wild hair and a hooded cloak, but it was her. Hermione waited._

_The wand was raised. The mouth opened. That word, that word she had heard too often, over and over, rent the air, and with it a flash of blinding light, and a crack, a crack so shattering it ripped her apart, not only with pain, but with the sheer blinding sound of it._

Hermione screamed so loud, it rivalled the noise of the crack of thunder which had distorted her nightmare.

She woke up, sitting bolt upright, her heart beating wildly, her eyes trying to pierce the darkness.

Hermione fumbled for her wand, muttering, "Lumos." Immediately, a calming glow dispelled the fear and darkness which had gripped her. She breathed deeply, her heartbeat stilling slowly.

The nightmares were not uncommon, certainly not in thunderstorms.

And here she was in the house in which the living nightmare had occurred.

Hermione looked into the room. Strangely, it had never disturbed her before that she had been crucioed time and time again in this very house. She could no longer remember the room in which it had happened. She had certainly never been in it since. Her mind had closed itself in on that time so effectively that her current surroundings held no fear in that respect. It was the memory which had tormented her, precipitated by the pounding of thunder, not the place.

But she would find falling back asleep difficult.

She recalled Grimble's warning not to wander around the house, but she knew she needed to change her surroundings, even if only for a short time.

Throwing back the covers, she wrapped the night gown provided tightly around her. Then, with her wand held in front of her, she opened the door and tiptoed along the corridors. She could go to the library, she supposed. There would be comfort there. But as she approached it, she passed the staircase.

There was a faint light from downstairs. Instinctively, she headed towards it, not stopping to question herself.

The light was coming from the sitting room.

Hermione's feet continued to bear her towards it. _Company._ That was all she needed.

She reached the door and, forgetting to knock, she pushed it open. Malfoy was sitting in his chair.

Her soul stilled further.

There was a sudden and unexpected flash of lightning, accompanied immediately by the loudest crack of thunder. She screamed.

The man in the chair stood in shock, spinning round and staring at her with clear alarm.

"Miss Granger!"

"I'm sorry. Sorry." She hung her head in embarrassment. "I couldn't sleep. I needed to ..."

She didn't finish her sentence.

He stood and looked across at her for some time. She saw his eyes flit down her body, only partially concealed in her thin night clothes. Without thinking, she pulled them tight around her, hugging her arms around her body. He averted his eyes. Then he motioned for her to join him.

"Thank you. I'm sorry to disturb you."

She sat in the chair opposite, immediately curling her legs in under her.

"Firewhisky?" He was holding a decanter. She couldn't normally stand the stuff. "For the nerves, of course." He had a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Why not?" she smiled ruefully.

He poured her a tumbler and held it out to her. She took it and in the process inadvertently brushed her fingers over his. She pulled the glass back to her, breaking the contact quickly.

"Thank you."

They both sat silently, looking at the comforting flames flickering in the hearth.

"I slept so well last time I was here. It's the storm. I don't like thunder. I had a dream ..."

He turned his head to look at her inquisitively before speaking calmly.

"Having difficulty sleeping is an all too frequent occurrence for me. I often find myself awake in the middle of the night. However, on this occasion, I have simply not yet been to bed."

She looked at him curiously, surprised by his candour. "It's two o'clock in the morning."

"Indeed it is."

She took a sip of firewhisky.

"And of what were you dreaming, Miss Granger?"

"Of a time long ago."

"Something real?"

"Yes."

"Something that happened in my house?"

"Yes."

"You are remarkably honest."

"There is no reason not to be. You know better than anyone what I went through. You and Draco."

She looked straight at him. He returned her gaze. In the firelight, his intense countenance caused a twist to her belly. But it was not with fear. She knew that.

There was further silence.

"Do you really not get lonely?"

He looked at her in surprise.

"You've asked that before."

"I know but ... here, in this house, with just you and Grimble?"

"It is how I want it."

"But still ... we all seek companionship, confirmation of our existence through another."

He didn't reply for some time; he seemed to be thinking hard on her words. But then his face shifted, and he spoke, deep, smooth, but the words chilling.

"Loneliness? There is no such thing, save for the loneliness of Azkaban. If one has not experienced that, one has never been truly alone. There, one does not even have one's own soul for company. Here, I am not alone."

He took a drink.

His openness staggered Hermione. It was only a few words about a time she knew would have flayed the soul, but for him to voice it so clearly to her ... She almost wept.

Staring across at him at that moment, she had never seen anyone so beautiful.

"No, you are not alone,' she said then added, hardly aware she was speaking, "I am here."

His head slowly turned to look at her. His grey eyes danced in the firelight.

Hermione looked away quickly, smiling with the sudden embarrassed awareness of what she had said. "I mean, if you ever wanted anyone to talk to. It's good to talk." Her smile faded, and she looked into his eyes with the same ferocious intensity still contained in his. "I like talking to you."

Thunder rumbled. But it was now distant, retreating. The storm was at last passing. The two people in the room were still staring at each other. Hermione knew her resolve was wilting. Her belly churned, her pulse raced. She had not felt it for so long. But, this time, she had no desire to shy away from it. She wanted it. The man beside her was so close, his hand resting on the arm of the chair.

Touch.

_I want to touch you._

She turned her head swiftly and squeezed her eyes tight shut.

"I must go back upstairs. I will be good for nothing tomorrow otherwise." She stood up. "Thank you for the drink. It's helped. Good night, Mr Malfoy."

He was not looking at her. She could scarcely breathe, so suffocating was the stranglehold of need within her. She turned away, ready to walk away.

"Miss Granger."

She stopped. Malfoy stood and took a step towards her.

_So close._

"You are right. It is good to talk."

She looked into his eyes, so unfathomable, but at that point as in need as her.

Hermione did not think about what she did next. It simply happened.

Her arms reached up behind his back and she held him to her, pressing her head against his chest.

_Warmth, strength, heartbeat._

She could hear it beating hard against her ear. It comforted her more than any amount of firewhisky ever could. Her hands held him against her, her fingertips feeling the firm muscles of his back.

Lucius Malfoy froze. His arms rose to the sides.

_There was a woman in his arms._

_A Mudblood. Granger._

He breathed in deep.

_She smelt so good, so nourishing ... so alive._

Her slight body pressed itself against him, her hands, remarkably strong, gripped his body. He reeled. Were it not for her holding him, he would have stumbled.

It had been so long ... so long since anyone had held him, since he had held anyone. So long since he had felt that warmth of the human touch, of the softness of skin, the firmness of bone and strength of muscle. So long since a simple hug had dispelled anxiety and disorder, if only for a minute.

_It felt so good._

_Not just anyone. Her._

Slowly, his arms moved down to enfold, to enclose her into him.

And there before the firelight he held her, his hands reaching around her back, pressing her into him as tightly as she pressed him to her.

_And it was good._

There was no wish for anymore. Not then. Their bodies fitted together, nestling into the dips and swells of each other.

It was Hermione who at length pulled back and looked him in the eyes.

"Good night, Lucius."

And with that she was gone, out of his arms and out of the room.

It was only then that Lucius Malfoy staggered and collapsed back into his chair.

* * *

**Not long to wait for ... the next chapter. LL x**


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione shut the door as she left. Without a glance back, she rushed up the stairs and along the corridors to her room. Once inside, she ensured the door was firmly closed and scrambled into bed, trying not to think too hard on what had just happened. If she did, she would be ascribing more significance to it than it warranted, surely.

It was simply a gesture of solidarity.

No more.

_His body was far more toned for someone of his age than she had anticipated ..._

She had, in any case, managed to banish the torment of the nightmare. She could sleep peacefully now.

_His back muscles, strong and lithe, flexing under her fingers as she gripped onto him ..._

She had a lot to do tomorrow. She had nearly finished a bookcase; she would complete it by lunch.

_His arms, holding her so close, bringing her more reassurance, more comfort, than she could remember any other man in her past ever bringing to her ..._

Hermione sighed in deep frustration.

The more she fought it, the more she knew it would consume her.

He was inside her head and there he would remain.

She was so tired. Her body desperately wanted to sleep. She gave in and allowed her mind the indulgence it so craved. And so, borne on the image of Lucius Malfoy holding her, enclosing her in his arms, sleep at last captured her. But it no longer needed to be imagined. It had happened; it was no longer a figment of her mind but a real memory, a balm. But the memory was altered. As the slip into subconsciousness rocked her back and forth, the clothes of the people in her mind fell from them and they continued to embrace, ever more ardently, ever more passionately, their naked limbs entwining, needing as much togetherness as possible.

Hermione was at last asleep.

But still the images did not leave her. As she slept, her mind and body remained focused on the man whom she had clung onto earlier.

_She was on a bed and around her were strewn images taken from the Book of Desire, all of them moving, all of them the embodiment of erotic bliss. A tall figure approached. She arched up towards the broad blond man standing before her, her need evident on her face, her skin chilled with anticipatory goose bumps. And still he stood, not moving. Hermione couldn't_ _bear any more._

A cry rose from her, piercing the consciousness of her dream.

_And then, at last, the man lowered himself to her._

Hermione, as dreamers often are, was unaware of the details of the coupling, but her body and her subconscious mind knew it was right, knew it was good. _So good. So complete._

_She clung to him, held him tight as he moved within her, stroking his hair, gripping his back._

For the second time that night, Hermione was ripped from sleep into consciousness by the events of a dream.

But this time was different.

As she focused back into her very real surroundings, she felt the last waves of a very real orgasm washing through her. After a moment to process what had happened, she sank back into the bed in relaxed, sated bliss. Sleep came again, now a dreamless sleep of contentment.

When she woke up the next day, Hermione could still recall the dream. _  
_

She was sick of questioning herself. Whatever was happening here felt right. She didn't intend to throw herself at the man. What had happened between them last night had been borne out of a need for companionship. At the time there had been nothing remotely sexual about it.

But Hermione was far too astute to deny the subsequent erotic need which would not lie still within her. She thought back to the image of herself in her dream, as if she could observe herself from afar.

She had been so desperate. Hermione had known it, even when asleep. Her body had shuddered with longing and need.

_Was this her?_

She could recall no man who had drawn such feelings from her in the past, certainly not Ron. She knew she was a sexual being, knew that her body had needs which equalled her intellectual needs, but she hardly recognised herself as the woman writhing on the bed. But she accepted that it was her.

_And now?_

Would he be expecting her at breakfast?

Part of her was filled with dread at the prospect. What if he had taken offence after last night? What if he had misunderstood?

Despite her misgivings, she couldn't wait to see him again. Showering and dressing quickly, Hermione went down to the kitchen. He was there. Her insides somersaulted with delight and fulfilled anticipation.

As soon as she entered Lucius stood. She stopped and smiled at him, gauging his reaction.

He was certainly not angry. If anything he seemed rather humbled. His face was passive to the point of being anxious and he held himself awkwardly. It was Hermione whose voice cut through the thick atmosphere.

"Good morning." She chose not to address him by name. She was not sure how anymore.

"Good morning."

_No 'Miss Granger'. That, at least, was something._

"I hope you slept well after ... the storm had abated," he continued.

"I did. Very well." She flushed and averted her eyes. Immediately, the image from her dream filled her head. She couldn't look at him. He was too beautiful.

"Won't you sit down? Grimble will cook bacon, eggs, whatever you desire."

_I desire you._

"Thank you. Poached eggs on toast would be rather wonderful." She took a seat.

Lucius Malfoy smiled at her language - it had a certain charm to it - and sat, offering her some tea before pouring himself another cup. With a flick of his hand, Grimble appeared immediately and poached eggs were ordered. After the necessary glare at Hermione, the elf set about his task.

Lucius had relaxed fully and the haughty mask which normally graced his face was back in place. Hermione didn't mind either way.

"What time did you eventually go to bed?" She knew it was a personal question and wondered how he would react. He answered immediately and calmly.

"Shortly after you left."

"Did you sleep well?"

Pause. He was buttering his toast, eyes lowered. "Predominantly."

"I should imagine I'll finish the third bookcase today. That's probably about thirty percent of the total now."

"Still a long way to go."

"Yes. I can't see myself finishing before the spring." Silence. "Do you mind?"

"You will stay as long as is necessary. I am aware of that."

"That's not what I asked."

He replaced the butter knife meticulously on the plate, rubbing the tips of his fingers in his napkin. "We seem to be quite content in each other's company, do we not?" Cool grey eyes looked into hers, and his eyebrows were raised swiftly to punctuate his enquiry.

She smiled. "Quite content."

Just then, Grimble placed a plate of poached eggs on toast before her. Despite it being virtually tossed at her, it looked perfect.

"Thank you, Grimble."

The elf immediately turned his back on her and inquired of his master, "Will that be all, sir, as I have other duties to attend to. I will return and clear away after you have finished."

"Yes, Grimble, you may go."

The elf shuffled off disconsolately, clearly not relishing the prospect of his other tasks any more than the thought of cleaning up after the Muggle-born.

Hermione could not suppress her titter. Lucius looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching in reaction. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry, but, against my better nature, he does make me laugh. I mean, I spent a large part of my time and energies championing the rights of house-elves, and I should feel pity for the poor soul, but from what I've seen of your expectations of him, they are hardly overly demanding, and he is free and salaried. He lives and works in a beautiful house and gets paid for providing for the rather humble needs of one person. I don't really know why he is so bloody miserable!" She laughed into her tea. Lucius allowed the smile on his face to deepen as her face flushed further and her eyes danced.

"Your presence disturbs him."

"Yes, I worked that one out. But, you seem to be tolerating me." She blushed again but continued. "Surely, if you can, he can?"

"Don't you understand? He is jealous."

Hermione looked at him, her face showing clear surprise.

"He feels ownership over me. He has had only me and my needs to cater for for the longest time, and now you have come in, and he finds my attention is diverted away from him and his duties." She listened carefully. It made sense. "And now in particular, he fears, senses, that my needs are shifting away from simply requiring wine and books at particular times and that you instead will provide for those other needs. You are a threat to his purpose and identity."

He looked at her for a moment. She stared back. And then suddenly, he seemed to realise what he had said. His face tensed and he averted his eyes swiftly.

_You will provide for those other needs. _His words remained between them.

Hermione could scarcely breathe. A shiver of excitement was coursing through her, endlessly, from the tingling of her scalp down to her toes. She drank a large gulp of tea. It caught her throat. The atmosphere was fit to burst.

"I see. For a moment there I thought you meant you had a gay house-elf!" She threw him as casual a smile as she could muster.

He smirked and allowed a sniff of a laugh to escape him. She too let her laughter rise. The tension was diffused.

Lucius cocked his eyebrows to consider her statement. "Do you remember Kreacher?"

Hermione laughed aloud. "Of course! What a joy he was!" She rolled her eyes sarcastically. "Are you suggesting Kreacher was gay?"

He pouted in teasing thought. "Well, I had my suspicions ..."

Hermione could hardly eat she was laughing so much. "Oh don't! I am suddenly picturing Kreacher getting up to all sorts!" She rested her elbows on the table and pressed her fingers into her shut eyes. "There are some things, like your parents having sex, which you simply don't want to think about!"

_She had just said 'having sex' in front of Lucius Malfoy._

Hermione knew her face was scarlet. She swallowed hard and stared at her food, concentrating forcibly to eat it. Clearing her throat, she inadvertently put a huge mouthful in her mouth.

She couldn't look at him. There was no way she was going to be able to chew and swallow in anything approaching a ladylike fashion. _Shit._ She held her hand in front of her mouth and tried desperately to appear normal.

_Was he looking at her?_ She glanced up. He was. _Double shit._ She formed her bulging mouth into a grin and looked away again.

Lucius Malfoy smiled to himself. Even demonstrating some very coarse table manners, she was utterly delightful. Her embarrassment merely reinforced his perception of her.

At length Hermione recovered, cleared the mouthful and ate normally. She was enjoying herself. But soon she finished and there was little reason to justify her remaining in the kitchen.

"Well, I'd better get on. Have you any plans for the day?"

Her question, and the domestic arrangements of sitting at breakfast in the kitchen, suddenly made them seem like a normal married couple. She couldn't look at him, but was pleased when he gave his answer as calmly as she had asked it.

"I thought I would go for a walk. There is a heavy frost; the estate looks beautiful at these times."

"I'm sure it does. How long will you be?"

"A few hours. Three or four perhaps."

She so wanted to go with him but her conscientious approach would not allow her to be away from her work for so long, even if she could make up for it another time.

Lucius sensed her contemplation. "Do you wish to join me?"

She looked up, opening her mouth to answer.

_Why not say yes? Four hours outside, walking with him in the grounds of one of the most beautiful estates in England._

Immediately another image sprang to mind.

_The two of them, walking together on hard frosty ground on the brow of a hill overlooking a gentle valley dotted with oak and horse-chestnut trees, their hands closely entwined._

"I ..." She almost smiled in acceptance before dropping her gaze rapidly. "No. Thank you. I must carry on with my work. I can't afford the time."

He did not respond immediately and, glancing up, she thought she could see a little of the light fade from his eyes.

"As you wish. Well, there is no point in delaying. Goodbye, Miss Granger."

He stood and bowed quite formally to her before walking purposefully towards the door. Hermione felt her joy drain from her as he left. As seemed to be the case so much recently, her mind immediately threw her decision back at her. _There would have been no harm in a walk, would there?_

"Miss Granger."

She looked up in surprise. He was standing in the doorway, having not yet left. "For my sake, you need not worry about completing your work quickly. As far as I am concerned ... I grant you all the time in the world."

He turned and walked out.

Hermione wondered if she may faint.

Had he simply meant there was time for her to remain working due to the Manor being unused?

_No._

His words meant something else entirely. It was some time before she found the physical and emotional strength to push herself out of the chair and go up to the library. The house was completely silent. He'd probably already gone out.

Hermione buried herself in her work in a desperate attempt to focus her mind. She succeeded to a certain extent.

Why did the man have to be so nice? Why did he have to force her to alter her perception of him so fundamentally? It was hard enough fighting an attraction to a committed bigot and bitter enemy, but to battle against an attraction to someone so well-mannered and increasingly charming.

_What had she done to deserve this?_

* * *

As he strode across his land, the frozen ground cracking in brittle resistance under his feet, Lucius Malfoy asked himself the same question.

_Why did the woman have to be so damned - interesting?_

Why, time and time again, did he find himself being so pleasant to her, seeking out her company?

The answer was obvious, but the reasons for it were still a great mystery.

His beliefs had not changed, he knew that. She was still a Mudblood. He still considered her far inferior to him and not worthy of conversation or interaction.

But that was not quite how things had played out.

_He liked her._

He liked her inquiring mind, her great magical skill, her confidence, her tolerance of him, her passion for knowledge, her laughter ...

He imagined a situation where he had to pick her out from a group of witches.

_If she was still unknown to him, he would be able to identify her as the misfit, the Muggle-born, would he not?_

He knew he would not. In fact, if he was entirely honest with himself, he suspected he would choose her as the purest witch of all, such was her magical radiance.

_And then there was the matter of her beauty._

He could pretend no longer.

_He desired her._

There had been too many nights now - too many where he had lain in his bed, thinking of one thing only, his body primed, his limbs aching.

That damned book hadn't helped. _And yet standing there with her, holding her hand, the image springing to life ... _He closed his eyes and smiled.

And she had held him. And he had held her.

_So right. So good._

It had been so long. _Too bloody long._

He had suppressed his natural instincts for an age. In his earlier life they had dictated his behaviour, so important had the sexual act been to him, but in recent years he had virtually dismissed it from his mind. Until now.

And now, this Mudblood was drawing it out, through a look or a simple touch. _Such need, such longing._

He stopped on the brow of a hill and looked out, his breathing deep and heavy, not entirely through exertion.

_Why had she arrived? Why did it have to be her? Why not send some balding Ministry pencil-pusher with a pince-nez and halitosis?_

Why was she the only one who had bothered - she, who had the least incentive to do so?

_He did not deserve her._

Lucius Malfoy frowned at the revelation, digging the tip of his cane into the hard ground._ Fool! She was a Mudblood. She did not need to be deserved._

Yet he couldn't stand the thought of her going. Neither did he think he could bear to know she was in his home and not be able to touch her, hold her ... have her.

_What was it? What was this hold she had over him?_

The answer was ludicrously simple.

_She made him happy._

He had not been happy for as long as he could remember. He furrowed his brows in an attempt to recall the last time. He could not.

He hadn't thought he wanted to be happy, so unfamiliar was he with the emotion. He had shunned any attempt to be happy, and people had helped by removing any opportunities.

And now?

Should he take her? Force himself on her? Perhaps force would not be necessary. He could sense her attraction to him.

He was used to women finding him attractive, although he had never expected it from this woman. It had not happened at first, he knew that. He liked that. She had grown to desire him. Not like the others - all the desperate flirting at parties, the fumbling and groping as soon as his wife's back was turned. The women had repulsed him, even the good-looking ones. Here, for once, was someone who had clearly not meant for this to happen.

_No._ He could not abuse her trust, her openness and integrity.

He was too fond of her for that.

_Even Mudbloods hurt._

_He did not want to hurt her._

Lucius Malfoy tapped his cane hard on the frozen ground. He didn't understand these emotions, this change inside. Before, he would have reacted violently to them, trying to find a way to purge them from his being.

_What a waste of emotional energy._ Things which are not understood are not necessarily wrong, are they?

_It was the sort of thing she would say._

He turned and started back to the Manor.

Time would tell.

And, after all, he had given them all the time in the world.

* * *

At five o'clock, Hermione left the library to head home. Lucius awaited her in the hall. She smiled meekly at him, still shaken by her cascading feelings.

"You may stay the night if you wish," he said.

"Thank you. I'd better go home. I have to ..."

"Feed the cat."

She smiled as he finished her sentence for her. "Yes."

She saw his mouth twitch into a smile. There was a moment's silence. "Well, if you are ever in need, or find yourself unable to return home, such as last night - there will always be a room - or twenty - to accommodate you."

She laughed. "Thank you. You're very kind."

_Had she really just called Lucius Malfoy 'very kind'?_

"I'll be off then."

"Right."

"See you tomorrow."

"Yes."

She reached for the door handle. So did he. They found their fingers entwined on it.

For a moment they could only stare.

_Warmth, strength._

_Need._

Then, with a self-conscious laugh, Hermione pulled the door open, took her hand away, and stepped outside.

"Bye."

"Goodbye, Miss Granger."

* * *

**You know, if I was one of my readers, I'd hate me right now.**

**Don't worry. I won't make you hate me forever.**


	10. Chapter 10

Days passed.

Hermione convinced herself she was so engrossed in her work, that her other preoccupations were subdued. She ignored the fact that at night when darkness ignited her imagination and her body, they were anything but subdued.

Lucius Malfoy bided his time, waiting. For what, he was not entirely sure.

Conversation between them remained amicable, and she would still join him for tea, but there were moments of awkwardness. If they passed each other in the corridors, Hermione would keep her eyes lowered until the last moment, at which point she would glance up at him through her lashes and smile hesitantly, not sure whether to stop and chat or not. They both knew they had moved beyond small talk.

Every time he approached her, she felt the knot in her belly tighten, her throat dry up, and her skin tingle with immediate anticipation.

The atmosphere of the house was becoming stifling. She desperately wanted to throw back the shutters and let in some light and air.

Something would have to give.

* * *

And so it was, late one Thursday afternoon in mid-December, that she found herself before a roaring fire, seated in the sitting room next to Lucius Malfoy. She had accepted his usual offer of tea, and her break had stretched longer into the afternoon than she normally allowed herself. The long legs of the man beside her were extended out before him, crossed at the ankles, and he was holding a glass of whisky on his torso. He seemed more relaxed than she could ever recall.

"It's nearly Christmas, you know. Are you going to put up a tree?"

Lucius turned his head and looked at her in silent amusement. He didn't speak. It was clear he wasn't going to.

"You could have the most beautiful tree in the hallway. It would be glorious. I could help decorate it. I'd do it all, if you liked. I love decorating Christmas trees. It's easy when you're magical."

"And who exactly would see this tree?"

"We would. And Grimble. That's enough. You never know, he may turn out to be a proper jolly little Christmas elf!" She giggled again. Lucius looked at her.

_He wanted to embrace her._ When he had held her she had been so slender with subtle yet enticing, undulating curves ... _How had they risen along her body?_ He tried to remember.

She glanced up at him, clearly expecting a proper response. After a time, he humoured her.

"We had a tree when Draco was a child, but I see no point in bizarre Muggle quasi-religious traditions now."

"Everyone has a tree! Muggles, wizards, everyone. And anyway, the tree is a pagan ritual, far removed originally from Christianity. It can easily be embraced by people like us."

He froze.

"People - like _us_?"

"Yes."

"And are you equating you and me together in this category, Miss Granger?"

Her heart fell from within her.

_Why did he have to do that? Why did he have to remind her of who he could be when things were going so well?_

She drew herself up. She could see a slight smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth. He was teasing her. She would not give him the satisfaction.

"Oh no, Mr Malfoy, of course not. But don't worry, your skills and intellect are not _that_ far below mine." She gave an exaggerated smile and drank from her tea cup.

Lucius could not help his own smile deepening. _Spirited too_. But that he knew already. Her reaction to his little taunt didn't surprise him.

He had not, after all, spoilt things, but there was a heavier feeling to the air now. Hermione sipped her tea again.

"Will you see Draco at Christmas?"

"Only briefly, I should imagine."

"Does that bother you?"

Lucius looked at her in stern surprise. But Hermione kept her head resolutely lowered, not giving him the chance to steer them away from the subject in reproach. He found himself answering honestly.

"Not as much as it used to."

"Will he be at his mother's?"

_Spirited indeed._

"Yes, I suppose."

Hermione looked up. He looked pensive, but still she was not sure why she said what she did next.

"Do you still miss her?"

His eyes darted to her. His features flinched, his body tensed.

Hermione's breathing deepened but she held his gaze steadily, waiting for a response.

"Not anymore."

"Was your parting entirely one-sided?"

His finger was tapping on the armrest, but he remained there, staring now at the place where his digit was beating a frantic tattoo.

"Yes ... no ... I'm not sure ... how dare you ask such impertinent questions! You insult my hospitality!"

He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with a scrape and storming to the other side of the room, folding his arms and turning away from her.

Hermione hung her head in shame. She had no wish to upset him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."

But to her surprise he interrupted her, not with more vitriol but with further explanation.

"I would never have left her, out of duty as much as anything. But we had no relationship by the end. I do not blame her for doing what she did. It was a relief to me when it happened, I suppose. I was not the person she had married. She knew it, as did I. The charade became too much effort, and for what? ... I had no pretence left in me. Nobody cared. I did not care."

"There is always reason to care."

"Not then."

"Of course there was."

His anger was piqued. Neither shied away from it. "Don't be so condescending! You, more than anyone should know better than that."

"Yes, and that is why I can say it with such certainty. Even at my lowest points I still knew I could carry on. That I had people around me who would be there at the end."

"Ah - but you see, you left with your sense of identity intact, reinforced probably. I did not have that luxury."

"No." She stared hard at him. "You emerged a better person."

Lucius turned to her, at first astonished and then brooding. _Did she have such faith in him? What reason did she have for that?_

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes. I saw you. I saw you at the end at Hogwarts. All grandeur, all pretence, all bluff stripped away. I saw a family, just a family, clinging to each other. It was one of the most moving sights of my life."

He looked at her for some time before turning away with a sneer. "You should have saved your emotional expenditure."

"Why do you insist on denying yourself happiness, Lucius?"

He sneered.

"I knew you. Before the final year of the war you seemed to embrace life to the full. Your soul was replete, swollen with vitality."

Lucius fixed her with a stare of incredulity, his deep sonorous voice reaching her with a cold, penetrating edge.

"Is that what you think?" For a time he said no more, merely searched her face for confirmation of her beliefs. At length he continued. "Even if that was the case - and I can assure you, it was not - thereafter came Azkaban, Miss Granger and the deconstruction of my home and family. How confident are you in the state of my soul after that?"

She didn't answer. There was nothing that could be said.

His broad form leaned hard over the table and he glared at her with more desperation than she had ever seen in him.

"You say you saw me full of life before that. How wrong you are, Miss Granger.

"Do you know what it was like to live constantly under the threat of failure, both from him and from one's own expectations? Believing that you are doing the right thing - then wondering why that thing, which is supposed to be so right, so pure, causes nothing but pain and suffering? And for that to become the norm - when death and violence and torture become the usual course of events - the suppression of any sort of moral code - and yes - I did have one, even I. Searching, searching desperately for the right path for me, for my son - confused and battered and so tired, and still having to carry on - with him, with ... everyone. And you tell me, at that time, my soul was replete!?"

Hermione listened, his every word searing her consciousness. She couldn't let him go now. She swallowed hard, her muscles clenched, and she said evenly, "Well, if it was pretence, you did it very convincingly. You must have been acting on the memory of a time when it really had been the case, when your soul was indeed still full."

He waved his hand dismissively at her. "Do not talk to me of a soul. I no longer remember what it is."

Hermione stared in despair at him, tears falling.

During the course of the conversation, Lucius had paced the few steps in front of his chair. Now he stopped and looked down at her, his eyes blazing fiercely.

He looked more terrible, more magnificent than ever before.

"I went for a long walk the other day. I told you, do you remember? I asked if you wished to join me."

She nodded.

"I reached a hill and I was thinking. I realised that I could not remember a moment when I had last been happy. I tried very hard to do so, and ... nothing."

Hermione stood too, her face still wet with tears. "That's not true. That can't be true."

His passionate temper had abated and he looked at her with a disturbing evenness.

He shook his head.

"But that can't be ... you cannot allow that to be," she sobbed.

He laughed softly at her ridiculous suggestion. "One cannot change the past. It is simple. I have no memory of being happy."

"That does not mean the memories are not there. It just means they've been too deeply buried. You need to release them again."

He smirked with bitter futility. "You have such faith in humanity, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, memories which at the time were perhaps of great happiness can now, due to changing circumstances, bring only desolation and misery."

"Not all, surely?"

"In my case, nearly all."

She looked into his eyes, searching them for hope. There was a tiny glimmer, which at that moment she knew she would latch on to and never let go.

"You must try to think back to something, anything ... I don't know ..." She wracked her brain, increasingly desperate. "Perhaps when Draco was born."

His features tensed and he exhaled sharply in frustration, almost groaning with despair.

Hermione was not deterred. "You must. Tell me."

Lucius looked angry and confused. He glared at her, but she held her nerve. His arms flailed at the sides, unsure what to do, and his hand came up to run through his hair, dishevelling it, a sight she'd so rarely seen. And then at last he spoke, his words pouring from him in a great gabble, trying to get it over with.

"There was a lot of screaming and people rushing about frantically. It was not an easy birth, I believe. I tried to help as best I could, but she made it abundantly clear she didn't want me anywhere near the place. Her mother was there."

"And then?"

He sighed heavily, reluctant to continue. Hermione held his gaze steadily.

"They only allowed me in several hours after the birth when things had been ... made good again, shall we say. Her mother was still there."

Hermione waited.

He huffed with increasing annoyance. "I do not know! I cannot recall. It was many years ago now. Thirty, I believe!"

"Of course it was thirty - don't you know how old your own son is?" He looked a little shamed then his features softened and he stared into the middle distance. There was silence for some time, then Lucius started to speak slowly, pulling up the memory from so deep inside his psyche, it was clearly taxing his concentration.

"I went in. The other people left the room. Narcissa was sleeping. The light ... the windows, French windows, were open, curtains blowing. It was warm, summer. There was a white piece of furniture ... new ... covered in soft white ... something ... near them.

"I heard a noise first. A small mewling noise ... like an animal. It was coming from the white object - a basket. I approached it ..."

He closed his eyes. Hermione was holding her breath.

"I leaned over and looked in. There was a tiny bundle, all white, and out of the white, a face ... a perfect face ... two eyes, nose, mouth ... I could not believe it could be so perfect. And then more white on top - lots of it." He smiled, eyes still closed.

"I reached down, my finger about to touch this tiny perfect thing which I had helped to create ... all that white hair ... clearly I had helped to create it. Should I touch it? Was it permissible? Would I disturb it? Would I harm it?

"I touched his cheek ... so soft, warm and alive. And then he moved, a strange shake, where his limbs came out and shuddered. But his hand touched mine, and his fingers, so, so tiny ... encircled mine. And so strong. I could not have withdrawn my finger from his grip had I wanted to.

"And there I stayed ... until she woke up and he stirred. That strength ... I wanted him to be that strong for all his life."

The beauty of his words took Hermione's breath away. She waited, letting them seep in, then spoke.

"At that moment - were you happy?"

He finally raised his eyes and looked at her. "Yes."

Hermione simply looked back at him.

They were standing very close. A strange calm and peace had suddenly descended.

And then Lucius raised his hand, slowly, almost uncertain, and brought it to her face, cupping it gently. "Thank you."

She didn't remove her eyes from his. His thumb stroked lightly over her cheek. Then she turned her head and kissed his hand on the soft tender flesh where the thumb joined his palm.

_At this moment too - he was happy._

Hermione's eyes closed. _The world felt so right._ What was he doing? She couldn't see. She thought she could feel soft regular breaths escaping him and falling onto her face, ever closer.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed and struck the hour. She counted it. It was seven o'clock. "May I stay here tonight?"

"Yes ..." His voice, tender, so close. "... Hermione."

She opened her eyes. He was so near, he invaded her senses without them consciously working. She had tears in her eyes, fresh ones. He saw them and stopped.

_The moment, held in time, was perfect as it was._

Mutually, they drew back from each other.

Hermione moved to the door, and with a look back at him but not another word, she left the room.

She ascended the stairs slowly as if in a dream. The house was still dark, cobwebs still hung around it, but somehow, now as never before, she felt a part of it. It had warmed to her; it had accepted her.

Hermione returned to the room she had stayed in before, ran a bath and allowed her limbs to soak slowly and gently, the perfumed bath oils and lotions imbuing her with a rich intoxicating heaviness.

It grew late but she didn't feel tired. Her body was alive, singing. She patted herself dry and put on the cream satin camisole hanging from the wardrobe.

She lit candles around the room, more than normal. The night air danced with their flickering amber glow.

Pulling back the heavy covers, Hermione climbed into the high bed but did not sleep. She lay, staring up at the ruched canopy of the bed, almost iridescent, lush in the light.

Hermione focused on her lungs pulling in breaths. Her skin was alight, her body heavy and needy. She lay completely still.

There was a knock at the door. Soft but distinct. Three times.

Hermione's eyes closed briefly. Her body hummed.

She grasped the covers and pulled them off her then slipped down from the bed. Without putting on any other clothing, she crossed to the door and opened it.

Outside stood Lucius.

Their eyes met, but they said nothing. A moment passed, their hearts beating the few seconds away, their eyes not leaving each other.

Hermione took a few steady steps back into the room, still holding his gaze.

He stepped inside and, not looking behind him, pushed the door shut.

The silence pervading the room was not noticed by them.

Hermione stood perfectly still a few feet from him. He looked at her face, then she saw his eyes slip down her body, over her breasts where her nipples stood out hard under the thin cami, down her long legs, barely concealed. Then back to her face. His chest was rising and falling heavily.

She lifted her hand to the opposing shoulder and slowly slid the strap off. Then, ever more deliberately, she did the same with the other. His eyes followed her every movement. The thin strap was pushed to the edge and then it fell, and with it the cami tumbled down her body and pooled at her feet.

Hermione stood naked before him.

Lucius could not breathe. He had never seen such beauty. Not only her body and her face, but her soul, so clear in her eyes, shining with luminous certainty before him.

He felt the needs of his body rising within him, manifested painfully in his groin. He drew in a shuddering breath.

Hermione crossed to the bed and lay slowly down on it, her arms raised above her head, her hands stroking the velvet covering.

_Before anything else, it must happen._

She parted her legs, drawing one up and to the side, revealing herself fully, open and ready for him.

Lucius took a moment to gaze at her but all emotion at that moment was contained in one place only. He knew he could do nothing else. He knew she needed it as much as he.

There was little time, such was his desperation. He could only fumble to undo a few buttons to release himself.

He lowered himself quickly and desperately to her. Pushing aside her leg with one hand and holding himself in the other, he thrust fully into her immediately.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and revelation and she gasped.

Yes.

_Yes._

Never had she been so full. She knew it. She knew it would be this way. It _should_ be this way.

She turned her eyes to him. His face was mere inches above her. When their eyes met he groaned, the deepest sound of satisfaction, but he did not move. At that point there was no need. They were joined. It was enough.

She encompassed him completely. He could not believe it was only that one part of him inside her, so enveloped did he feel by her tight, wet heat.

_Exquisite._

Only when he was sure they had both fully absorbed the reality of sensation did Lucius start to make love to her.

His hands moved to either side of her face and he gazed deep into her eyes, those brown eyes which had so tormented him. There were tears in them now, tears which he recognised as tears of joy. He bent and kissed them away. Then, the salt still strong on his lips, he moved to hers. Hermione parted her mouth and breathed out. _So sweet and good._ She let her tongue flit over them moments before he touched her. Their lips met, a moment as sacred as when he had entered her. His kiss was so tender, so different to what she could have imagined all those years ago. She sighed into his opening mouth, moving hers across his in a blissful tasting.

Lucius' fingers clenched in her hair, gripping her, holding her completely to him. He slipped his tongue into her supple mouth and immediately felt her melting further under him. Her acquiescence and desire astounded him, but he took little time to think on it. At that moment, Hermione pulsed around him, causing him to moan into her mouth and push into her again. She arched up to meet him, feeling his flesh deep and hard.

Her tongue had now met his and she teased him with it, flitting it in and out of his mouth, running it lightly over and around. He allowed her to continue for some time, enjoying her tantalising sweetness. But then he gripped her head in his hands and claimed her mouth with his. She moaned against him. His teeth ground onto her lips, urgent with his hunger for her. They tasted the bitter crimson of her blood. It fuelled their belief in each other.

Her hands came up, fumbling at his shirt, feeling for the buttons. He raised himself up enough for her to undo a few, all the while careful to remain inside her, kissing her mouth, her face, her neck, any part of her. She exhaled a laugh and gave up trying to slip the buttons out of the holes. Holding them firmly, she ripped them apart. He smiled against her skin, thrilled by her ardour.

Hermione pushed the shirt off his shoulders and tugged it off his arms. At last his upper body - that firm, muscled torso she had so dreamed about - was before her. She ran her hands over it, lightly teasing the nipples as she went. Pushing herself up, her mouth caught the flesh before her, her tongue licking, tasting its pale, smooth glory.

Lucius sucked in a breath, his eyes closing in bliss, and he could not help but swell and surge within her. Hermione's breath caught. Every inch of him was so real, so present. Once more, he ensured he was fully in her with a sharp thrust, before lowering his head to her warm breasts. Taking a moment to gaze at the sight before him, his mouth descended with a groan and he latched onto her nipple. Hermione sobbed; the sensations pulsing through her defied her imaginings. Her hands reached up and her fingers entangled in his hair, holding him there.

He sucked hard, his tongue flitting over the hard bud of flesh. She breathed out deep and slow and arched high against him.

_How had she waited so long? There was nothing wrong with this. Never had anything felt so right._

He flexed his back, causing him to move deeper yet into her, and latched onto the other nipple.

_"Yes."_ It was the first word either of them had said.

Lucius groaned against her flesh. She tasted so fresh, so vibrant and new. His entire body was pouring itself into her. His hand descended to where they were joined and, tenderly, he found that perfectly ripe place and circled it. Hermione let a sigh of utter contentment escape her. He continued to suck and pull her nipple into him, sending shoots of pleasure through her to the point where he circled her tingling flesh.

_So close. So close._

He rocked within her. _Surely he was larger than anyone before. It had never felt like this._ She wanted to feel more. Reaching down to grip his head, she tugged it gently back up to her.

Their eyes met once again and she seared him with a deep burning kiss then whispered, "Move. I want to feel all of you."

Her confidence, her expression of need, enthralled him. He could not remember ever feeling this way with a woman, certainly not the first time. But this wasn't what any other woman felt like.

_This was what Hermione felt like._

His features creased and he gripped her shoulder.

Slowly, in stark contrast to his desperate initial plunge into her, he pulled out nearly all the way. Her mouth opened wider as she felt her flesh closing back into the space he left. And then, before she could register the loss too deeply, he pushed forward again, as slow as he had pulled out, managing to stroke along her tight little nub at the same time. She inhaled sharply as pleasure caught her, gripping his back so hard it stung. He adored it.

Hermione clenched tightly around him as he pushed in, drawing him ever deeper. She bit her lip, not once taking her eyes from his gaze.

_Never before so good. _Lucius' mind reeled with the revelation.

Once again he pulled out as slowly as he dared, but her slick wet heat was so intoxicating, milking his pleasure so sublimely, that he knew he couldn't hold on much longer. He began to pick up his pace, positioning himself so as to catch her clit with each thrust.

Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, the grip on his back intensified, and her breathing became shallow and irregular. He knew he was holding her on the brink.

_How open she was in expressing her pleasure. How tuned his body was to her already._

Never had he had such an instinctive feel for a partner.

Lucius pushed fully into her once more, stroking over her clit at the same time. Hermione's eyes, fixed into his, opened fully, as if in shock. Her breath caught, and she came.

It felt as if she had been pulled up and away from the bed. What started as a tiny ripple, pulsing around the hard, rigid flesh of his cock, quickly swelled beyond containment. It flowed through her, feeding back on itself in surge upon surge. Her body felt so electrified she thought for a moment she would fuse into him. She cried out into the room, his name ripped out of her on the wave of ecstasy.

He needn't hold back any longer. Gazing at her, her face twisted in rapture wrought by him, she was the epitome of beauty. He allowed himself his pleasur and happiness.

Lucius felt her tightness squeezing him as her orgasm gripped her and recognised the inexorable rise within him. His fingers dug into her tender flesh and he burst into her with a guttural groan, spurting into her once, twice, again.

And caught amidst his cry of pleasure was her name, "Hermione!" She heard it, took it, and kept it deep inside.

Lucius collapsed on top of her and she held him there.

After some time he rolled off a little to the side, but remained inside her. She smiled gently at him, stroking his hair from his face and kissing him softly. He smiled back - the warmest, most natural smile she could imagine.

They remained like that for some time until he had softened to such an extent that he slipped out of her. Hermione yawned blearily and rolled onto her side, taking Lucius' hand and placing it over her waist to hold her against him. He fitted his body into the curves and dips that he had only been able to imagine for so long. And there, spooned together, the two lovers fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**You waited so long and so patiently that I think you deserve a little indulgent reward. This chapter is just that. ;-)**

* * *

The winter sun struggled to break through the heavy curtains and into the room, but Hermione still knew it was dawn and she awoke refreshed and content. At first she didn't move. She listened.

She could hear deep, regular breathing from beside her. Shifting back, she came against a warm firm body and fitted herself back against it just as she had the night before. The breathing was was interrupted and immediately a strong hand encircled her waist and held her tight.

_So it wasn't a dream._

_And it still felt right._

"Good morning." The low hum in her ear further affirmed the reality.

"Good morning," she replied, turning her head to confirm that it was indeed Lucius Malfoy lying beside her in bed.

She smiled and before she could turn her head back he had brought his hand up to gently hold her there. Lucius leaned over and kissed her, so sweetly, so sublimely, she thought she was falling through the softness of the pillow.

Still kissing her, his hand moved down, running along the valley of her waist, over her hips and down her thigh. Immediately, she was alight and ready. She sighed against his lips, sliding her tongue into his mouth to taste as much of him as possible. He teased. Pulling back then ghosting over her, his own tongue danced along her lips before questing briefly into her mouth as she tried to capture it.

His hand stopped just above her knee and it moved down under her leg so that he was supporting it. He closed his fingers under and lifted. Hermione was hardly aware of what he was doing. When she felt him, rock hard and urgent, nudging against her opening, she was made very much aware.

The image of the two lovers in the boat from the book swam into her head. _So similar._

She moved to position herself perfectly for him, her head still bent in a kiss, and with a moan of consent she felt him press into her.

The passage of the night had momentarily blurred her memory of how large he was. As he moved deeper, her eyes opened in astonishment. He paused at just the right point and rocked back and forth. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she exhaled in wonder.

Lucius pushed deeper then pulled back only to squeeze himself once more into her searingly tight flesh.

Hermione moaned, words floating from her subconscious onto the air around them. "That's right, that's right, my darling, _my darling, don't stop, don't stop_ ..."

A groan of his own fell into her ear. _When had someone last called him 'darling'?_

"So perfect, so good ... Do you know how good you feel? So good for me ... _You are so good for me._" He whispered so low even she could barely distinguish his words.

His hand released her leg and ran back up over her hip and along her waist. He brought it to rest at her breast, cupping the heavy flesh briefly before drawing his fingers up to find the nipple. He closed around it and pinched. Hermione moaned as the sensations shot through her straight to her sex, which was still being stroked by his rigid cock.

Their mouths were still joined, open and hungry. She moaned a lust-drenched 'yes' as his fingers continued to squeeze her nipple ever more passionately. She pressed into his hand, delighting in the feelings he was eliciting within her flaming body.

_How responsive she was._ It had been so long, and yet with her, his instinctive skill had returned with a passionate vengeance.

He continued to move, in then out, slowly then fast, stroking, soothing, rubbing, filling.

And with a sudden spasmodic arching of her body, Hermione froze. Her breath caught with ragged sharpness and her hand reached behind to clasp in his hair. "Lucius!" She could hardly form the word, but he heard it and with it felt the tight rhythmic clenching of her orgasm. His face creased with joy.

_Such pleasure. Never before._

He held her tight into him, her limbs shaking as the rapture rushed through her. He moved within her shuddering body, and with a grunt of pure release, burst into her in hot searing bursts.

They lost count of how long it took them to tune back into their surroundings. They lay, having hardly moved since both waking and he stroked along her body, back and forth, rhythmically and regularly.

_Beautiful._

Hermione was not sure if she had gone back to sleep or not. Her mind was so relaxed, so at one with the man beside her and the room which held them so gently, that she drifted in and out of a dreamlike state, unaware if she was awake or sleeping.

At some point, Lucius fell away from her and the bed adjusted as he got up. She rolled over. If she could no longer feel him, she must at least look at him.

She breathed in in revelation. The nature of their urgent initial coupling the previous night meant that she had not really seen him properly naked. And now he was standing before her for the first time.

Her face broke involuntarily into the broadest smile. He was the most magnificent example of man she'd ever seen and exhibited a body in remarkable shape for his age. He could easily have been ten or fifteen years younger. _A great wizard_, she was reminded.

She couldn't take her eyes off him.

Lucius seemed to be unaware that he was being studied and bent down to pick up his shirt from where it had been discarded the night before.

"No, wait!" Her sudden cry startled him, and he turned to her in surprise. "I want to look at you. I haven't seen you yet."

He frowned slightly with a look which almost conveyed embarrassment. He was clearly confident in his own body but had perhaps not expected her to be. But he let the shirt drop to the floor again and raised himself tall, turning his eyes into hers.

She continued to smile, her beam curling into a smirk of delight. With a wave of her hand and a mutter of "Partitio," the curtains opened and the crisp morning light poured into the room, falling on his body and imparting it with an almost translucent glow.

Hermione spun over onto her hands and knees and crawled down the bed towards him. When she reached the end she swung her legs off and approached him.

He looked at her steadily but his chest rose and fell with increasing rapidity.

Hermione's eyes fell on his torso, broad, smooth and sculpted, the pectoral muscles swelling and dipping in two subtle but firm undulations. She placed her palms flat upon them, and slowly, deliberately, rubbed up to curl over his shoulders before her fingers worked their way around the back of his neck. And then, almost having to stand on tiptoes, she kissed him.

_The most perfect kiss._

But Hermione then slipped away from it and continued to kiss, peck and nibble over his face. Her hand rose to the back of his head and she pulled him down so that her mouth rested against his ear, and she whispered, "You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. You always were ... but, I confess, I've only recently realised it."

She didn't see his eyes close in pained adoration.

Hermione continued her kisses, down his neck, across his left shoulder, her hands following to reinforce her touch.

She was meticulously and assiduously covering every inch of his flesh. By the time she had worked her way down and to the front again he had risen so hard that she swayed back in surprise.

But instead of a giggle of surprised amusement, Hermione could only stare in wonder.

And then, slowly, tentatively, her hands reached out for it and she touched it almost reverently, just with the tips of her fingers. Lucius sucked in a breath through his teeth. And, employing the same gentle attention she had given to the rest of his body, Hermione lowered her head and kissed it, tenderly and delicately, starting at the base and gradually running up to the smooth, round head, so swollen and full for her.

Lucius struggled to control himself, but her attentions were so innocently perfect that he allowed her her restraint. At that moment, it was right. Her lips continued to kiss, her tongue occasionally flitting out and tasting, touching, exploring, learning ... learning him. Her hands reached around to cup the firm swell of his buttocks.

She could feel her own desire gathering in damp heat. Her body needed to take him in her mouth, take him deep into her, taste him, engulf him. But Hermione resisted.

She continued to plant delicate, chaste kisses along his engorged cock, which rose ever more urgently up to her. Lucius' breathing could be heard coming in deep but sharp intakes. Hermione moved down to the base, lightly tasting the heavy sac she found there. He couldn't stop a groan of gathering lust rising from him. Her tongue licked, probing every crease and pore. And then she drew it back up the underside until it came to the deep slit splitting the purple head. A drip threatened to fall from the tip. She caught it on her tongue before it had the chance, taking the salty confirmation of his desire into her mouth and tasting his essence. He was sweeter than others, sweeter than she would have imagined.

And with that, for now, she abandoned it and moved down to further discover his body. Was its tautness merely due to the condition he kept himself in? Or did it reflect the tight restriction of his mind, the caged soul within? Hermione stroked his leg, kissing and nibbling as she went, curious to see how his flesh reacted. His skin quivered beneath her touch. Did his soul quiver also? Could she shake him, stir him? She continued her quest, down, down to his feet. Her fingertips ran over the long tendons and bones which formed them.

_Even his feet were beautiful._

Hermione moved behind him and slowly, so slowly, travelled up the backs of his legs, kissing, tasting still. Lucius allowed her. His patience surprised even him, but her exquisite ministrations delighted him. She was absorbing him, absorbing all that he was.

He felt her tongue on his buttocks. They tensed due to the delicious sensations pouring through him and the near impossible task of controlling himself. Hermione paused momentarily and he forced himself to relax. She felt the muscles softening under her and she continued her progress up his back, her fingertips running up his spine, feeling each vertebrae, lightly, delicately, her tongue examining the long muscles which extended down either side.

And finally she was back to the nape of his neck. His hair tumbled down. She reached up and stroked it, her fingers curling around the myriad of flaxen strands, heavy and silky in her palm. _What an extraordinary thing it was_. She'd never imagined she would find long hair on a man attractive. She didn't even like blonds. But it was so integral to his identity, to the nature of his being, that it could be no other way. She delighted in it as much as any other part of him.

Hermione leaned up and inhaled the smell of his hair. _He still smelt of Christmas_.

She brought her mouth to his ear and whispered, low and sensual, "You are magnificent - every part of you ..." She paused, drawing her hand down his flat torso, feeling the indentation of his belly button as she went. She stopped just above the point at which he rose out, still so needy. He had seen her at her most exposed all those years ago, screaming as her body and soul were flayed open for him to see. All modesty, all shyness, were banished. She desired him. Why mask it? She dripped her voice into his ear. "... but especially your cock."

With that Lucius turned to her, grasping her shoulders firmly in his large hands, his eyes searing into her, his breath falling on her in hot heavy pants. He leaned in and kissed her violently, his tongue forcing her mouth open and probing within her sweet submitting warmth. _How had he done without for so long?_ How had his life gone from such devastation to such completeness with the presence of one person? His desire merely raged on.

The lust Hermione had kept caged so carefully during her exploration of his body flared violently. She returned his kiss with as much passion as he gave it and felt her belly writhing in desperate need.

His hand gripped her head to him, fingers clenched in her hair. It was his turn to speak.

"_I want you_. I must know you, understand you."

He was pushing her back towards the bed. She fell back onto it. He knelt between her legs, lifting them forcibly to the sides and exposing her fully to him.

Hermione's breath was held.

Lucius' fingers ran up her thighs, tickling and tantalising. She moaned, her head thrashing to the side, her hips bucking violently.

"_Shh_ ..." He whispered so delicately she hardly heard it but it worked immediately. Hermione stilled, her patience forced to obey.

Lucius bent his head to the back of her knee and flitted his tongue out. She inhaled sharply but quietly, waiting, waiting.

The damp, delectable warmth was working its way up her inner thigh, accompanied by his lips, sucking, nibbling the delicate flesh as it travelled.

And then his fingers found her, opening her, revealing her so wet, so primed for him that he knew it would take little to pull her over the edge.

His tongue at last reached its goal and swept long and slow up towards her swollen knot of flesh, capturing her desire as it went. Hermione moaned, a slow protracted wail of rapture. She had not realised how much she had wanted, needed, to feel him there. As Lucius absorbed the concentrated essence of who she was, a surge pulsed through him, an extreme version of the warm glow he experienced when she had smiled at him. There was no revulsion at her lowly status, merely a sudden sense of everything falling into place, of a blindness being removed from his eyes.

She lay before him, a Muggle-born, utterly exposed, utterly vulnerable. If he accepted her now, he would accept all of her, and she him.

No one else mattered. They could be the only two people on earth.

She clenched her muscles hard, her hips rising and falling regularly, encouraging his already expert technique. Hermione could not recall a former lover who had engaged in this with such abandon. It ceased to be the base and visceral act that it could be, and became something so beautiful, transcending the mere physical, that she found tears pouring from her eyes as pleasure poured from her body.

It did not take long for another orgasm to cascade over her in ever-growing billows.

She lay still, panting, trying to recapture her breath and focus. Lucius came to lie beside her on the bed. For some time, she could only stare at him, but a tingle at the back of her mind told her his own needs had not been fully addressed. She kissed him again, then, drawing her leg carefully over him, she positioned herself so that her body hovered over his throbbing erection.

He glanced down. She leaned onto his chest a little, causing him to drag in air. Then, in stark contrast to when he had first entered her, she lowered herself slowly down onto him, watching as he disappeared little by little into her, feeling him stretch her inner walls inch by inch.

When at last he was fully in, her head fell back, and in short gasping breaths she felt him and encompassed him. Forcing her head over, her eyes met his and she smiled. He was looking up at her in sheer wonder.

"That's good," she smiled down at him.

"Oh yes," he almost laughed.

He moaned as her muscles clamped around him.

He gripped her hips and fixed into her eyes. "Move. Move, my sweet. I must feel you. I want to feel you."

As slowly as she had lowered herself onto him, Hermione pushed up, not quite letting him fall out of her, but enough to torment and delight him equally. Then down again, and up, repeating her exquisite bewitching movements with carefully executed momentum. His eyes closed and his head fell to the side in pure rapture. Hermione looked down in wonder. With this man, her body simply knew what to do.

She leaned back, propelling him along her at just the right angle. Hermione moved faster now as she felt the approach of another orgasm. His hands came up and he instinctively grasped her breasts, plying the taut nipples. It was all it took. Hermione froze momentarily, her eyes shooting open in wonder. The climax burst upon her, capturing every fibre in her body. A juddering exclamation, half words, half sensation, rose from her.

As he felt her muscles gripping him hard, as he heard the primeval sound of her disarray, Lucius followed her, releasing his own pleasure deep within her in hot, heaving spasms, his own groan animalistic in its triumph.

She slumped onto his body and felt heavy arms falling over her back to hold her there. It took some time, in the dim silence around them, for reality to encroach once again. There was no rush for it, no need for it to return. Indeed, this was now their reality.

His hand came up to stroke her hair.

"I have found you. Thank the gods I have found you."

Hermione made sure her tears fell into his hair, not allowing him to feel them wet on his skin.

Lucius moved to look at her, still stroking her hair and face. "Will you have me?"

She frowned in confusion. He sounded so vulnerable, so beseeching. "What do you mean?" She smiled a little. "I have had you - several times in a few hours." She giggled to mask the serious tone of his question. His words unsettled her.

He frowned. "No. Now. You must not go. You won't go, will you?"

Her expression melted into one of complete acceptance and humility. She shook her head. "I won't go."

Lucius sighed. She laid her head on his chest, hearing his deep tones vibrating within. _  
_

"I confess - when you first arrived here, I was filled with dread. My prejudices had not died. I detested Muggle-borns with a passion. I still do ... I contemplated whether I could tolerate your presence at all. But, there you were, and somehow none of it mattered. You were real - a living, thinking, sentient being. And you breathed ... you breathed life into my house ... into me. The struggle I initially felt changed. It was no longer a struggle of whether I could live with you ... but whether I could live without you ..."

Hermione squeezed her eyes tight shut to try to stem the relentless flow of emotion. The throbbing tones continued. "And you? Can you put up with me? An old bigoted, belligerent Death Eater?" There was genuine fear in his voice.

Hermione glanced up at him. Old? Belligerent? She'd never seen anyone so vital and accepting. She gave her response by kissing him with the deepest confirmation.

_How had he existed without her? _It was as if he was waiting for her ... all his life, waiting ... his prejudices, his perceptions merely a preparation for the confrontation, for the deconstruction of his beliefs, even if only through and for this woman.

They clung to each other, as morning turned to midday.

Hermione lay on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. "I suppose we should get up at some point."

"Whatever for?"

She stifled a laugh. "Food perhaps?" She glanced at him. He seemed to read her mind, as they both said at the same time, "Tea?"

She laughed again, and felt his chest rising and falling in shared mirth.

"I'll never forget the first time you asked me to join you for tea. I was so surprised."

"Not as surprised as I was that I had done it at all."

"So why did you?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I just ... wanted you near me, I suppose, even then. I found your company ... comforting ... it reminded me that I was indeed alive."

"Oh, Mr Malfoy," she drawled, "you are very much alive." She kissed him deliciously. "Have you forgotten what I am?"

There was a moment's silence.

"No." His voice was straight.

"You said you still detest Muggle-borns just now."

"I do."

"So ... how can you have done what you just did and said the things you have just said ... to me?"

He looked at her, a ghost of a smile on his face, containing sheer wondrous admiration. "Because you are ... Hermione. The rest is irrelevant to my feelings for you."

"It wasn't before."

He breathed out hard. He adored her bold, inquiring mind and knew these questions would be raised at some point, but he was more focused on other matters at this moment and would rather avoid thinking too hard about them. He didn't think he could fully comprehend it himself. He simply knew that he needed her, adored her and everything she was, everything she brought to him. His mind ached.

"I confess that, with regard to you, there has been a re-evaluation of sorts. But, it is you, only you. The others are ... still ..." His voice trailed off. The matter was tedious.

She smiled. He was relieved she didn't ask any more. He continued, "It was, after all, some time before I acknowledged the full extent of my feelings for you."

"What prompted that? The book?"

Lucius smiled. "A wonderful moment. But, no, I think that simply confirmed it to me. Things were stirring in me before that. I'd started to dream about you."

She giggled, remembering her own night-time fantasies. "Me too. If I was honest with myself, I was attracted to you very early on. That first moment I saw you it took me aback because I had forgotten how stupendously good-looking you are."

His fingertips ran enticingly over her arm.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear."

She wriggled provocatively against him, running her leg up his thigh.

"Prove it."

And Lucius Malfoy, never one to let a challenge pass, set about doing just that.


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione had begun to lose track of days, and as she awoke she forced her mind to reacquaint itself with a semblance of normality. Lucius was still sleeping beside her on his front, his arms drawn up onto the pillows. In sleep, he regained the innocence of childhood. For those moments, she could forget all he had been. It made it easier to accept the path she now found herself treading.

She leaned down and lightly kissed his shoulder, then raised herself from the bed. He groaned, vaguely aware in the dull fog of awakening that she had got up. Hermione crossed to the window and opened the curtains a little. White light flooded the room. He groaned ever louder. She frowned an admonishing smile in his direction but redrew the curtains a little to shield him from the glare of the morning light.

Poking her head through the curtains, she gazed out over the lawns. There was a heavy frost. It was a cold, crisp day, and the grounds sparkled with the sheer glassy icing which covered them.

It was too beautiful.

Ignoring his protestations, she drew the curtains fully back to allow the day to enter their bedroom.

Lucius moaned and rolled onto his back, flinging his arm over his eyes to shield them.

"You should still be here in my bed. What are you doing?" He tried to muster a disapproving tone, but knew he was failing.

"It's called light. Not something you're used to."

"Now now," he chided, a slight smirk gracing his features.

She was filled with a sudden rush of delight and jumped over onto the bed, leaning over him. "Come on, you. Enough lounging in bed! Up!"

Lucius reached down and flung the bedclothes off him, revealing his cock rigid and erect. "Will that do?"

Hermione collapsed with laughter, her head falling across his stomach. Lucius propped himself up and grabbed her, tossing her down the bed and leaning in to smother her with kisses. Hermione's mood quickly changed from exultant mirth to urgent need.

She arched her body up into him, moaning with unconcealed desire, "Please ... please, Lucius ..."

His need was as great as hers, and he quickly moved between her legs and pushed up into her warm dampness. Not taking their eyes from each other, their bodies locked together, they soon brought each other the first pleasure of the day.

"Shall we go down for some breakfast?" Lucius asked softly afterwards.

A sudden thought occurred to her. There was a significant member of the household who had no idea of what had transpired between them.

She tensed. "Do you think we should?"

"Yes." He was unequivocal and surprised by her uncertainty.

"But ... Grimble."

Lucius pouted. "The circumstances will certainly provide him with something to occupy his stagnant mind."

"He'll hate it."

"Most likely."

"Doesn't that worry you?"

"He's my house-elf. Why should it?"

Hermione exhaled a sigh. Her lover's manner should have come as no surprise to her, but her own sense of ethics didn't permit her to ignore it. Still, she did her best to reconcile her mind to it. Grimble was a salaried employee. In any household, it would not be his position to question the behaviour of his employer.

"Alright. Come on then," she smirked at him. "I'm starving!"

With that, she leapt from the bed and flung on only a robe. Lucius followed her, dressing with rather more languid leisure than her.

They descended to the kitchen, talking and laughing animatedly. The house-elf was standing there, the usual sneer of disdain on his face. She moved away from Lucius and pulled her robe tightly shut. But almost immediately, strong arms encircled her and pulled her around for a burning kiss. She couldn't help but return it.

When they parted, she glanced over at Grimble with a look of apologetic resignation. He looked as if he had just sat on a mandrake.

"Morning, Grimble," she said as normally and gently as she could. He didn't move, simply continued staring across at the two of them, his face twisted with repulsed disbelief.

"Grimble - bacon, eggs, sausages - everything - Miss Granger and I have built up quite an appetite."

Hermione wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. She glared at Lucius, who raised his eyebrows to her in mock querying ignorance.

Still, the house-elf didn't move. "Grimble! Food - now!" His master was clearly irritated.

At last, the diminutive creature shook himself from his stupor and moved reluctantly to the stove. Hermione heard the expected mutterings under his breath. She strained to hear the words. "Disgrace", "Disgust" and "Against the laws of nature" seemed to feature among the words and phrases pouring from his mouth. His attitude at last helped to kick in her own annoyance with him, and she settled down at the table. He really was a disagreeable little fellow.

When her food arrived, Hermione found herself studying it intently, wondering briefly if it had been poisoned. She glanced at Lucius, who seemed to read her mind and smiled reassuringly at her. With less relish than her hunger dictated, she placed the first mouthful between her lips. She survived.

The atmosphere was lifted when Grimble had tidied up and shuffled in his usual sagging way out of the room.

Hermione let out a huge sigh. "Thank God he's gone. Bloody hell!"

Lucius smiled at her reaction. "Don't let it worry you."

"I suppose I shouldn't. Anyway, he goes with the house. Fits into the general atmosphere."

Lucius didn't respond. Hermione was aware she had voiced a criticism of his house again. But instead of retreating from it, she used the opportunity to say what she thought.

"Why don't you take down some of the boards on the windows?"

He didn't say anything.

She took another mouthful of food. Seconds ticked away.

"Very well."

Hermione's head shot up, astonished. She wasn't entirely sure the words had come from him. He was staring at her steadily, and his mouth formed into a warm smirk as he read the amazement on her face. She didn't speak but beamed at him in return.

They finished their breakfast in contented peace, occasionally reaching across, touching, caressing a palm or wrist.

Afterwards, as they made their way upstairs, Lucius paused on the landing, and raising his wand above him, the boards which had covered the vast window at the top of the staircase descended, then vanished completely. Hermione was blinded by the light which poured relentlessly in, unleashed at last to enter a place it had been so desperate to explore for so long.

She turned and looked down into the vast space below her. She hardly recognised the house. She had not realised how beautiful, how elegant it was. Ornate carvings and rich colours revealed themselves. She gasped in awe and delight.

"Hm," Lucius declared, clearly satisfied with his actions. Hermione looked at him. He displayed no remorse, no hesitation whatsoever.

She came across and kissed him. "Good."

He smiled in concurrence against her lips. "Good."

She stared into him warmly. "What do you want to do today?"

He shrugged; he hadn't considered it. "As long as I am with you, I have no wish to do anything in particular. Well ... there are one or two things ..."

She giggled and kissed him again. "We can't spend our whole lives in bed!" He pouted but glanced out of the window. "I suppose a walk would be in order."

"Good idea. Come on then, togs on!" She laughed and ran ahead of him to get dressed. Lucius watched her gazelle-like undulations as she pranced ahead of him up the corridor. After committing the sight to his memory, he followed her.

It was a freezing day. They stood about to go out, wrapped in the thickest winter clothing. Hermione reached up and adjusted his scarf around his neck, nestling it into the dip below his Adam's apple. "There. All set."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

She looked at him. Her mind couldn't find an answer at that moment. Not that it bothered her. She had no doubt that this was right. She replied with a kiss. He was content enough.

They set out, the chill biting air healing and cleansing as it swept like a shaft of ice into their lungs. Hermione linked her arm into his, and he reached a gloved hand over to hold it there. She leaned into him as her feet carried her in unison with his over the hard shining ground.

They walked through his extensive estate. Lucius occasionally stopped, pointing out a particular feature, a tree which had been brought back from some exotic location - the only one of its kind in the country. He became increasingly animated as they went. She had never seen him so energised, so effusive. She couldn't help planting kisses over him, which he would return passionately, delighting in her sweet breath floating up to him in soft moist clouds.

They walked deep into the heart of his estate. Hermione wondered how far it extended. They passed lakes, woods, various vegetable allotments - there were carefully landscaped spaces, others which had been left to grow deliberately wild. All fitted well, despite the need for some intense maintenance. Lucius kept assuring it would be done at the first sign of spring.

At length they came to a forest predominantly consisting of pine trees. The trees rose up, their dark green lustre sensual and vivid against the frozen chrome of the sky. Lucius paused and turned to look down at her.

"Go on then," he insisted. She frowned in confusion. He continued. "Which one do you want?"

Realisation dawned. He wanted her to choose a Christmas tree.

She turned her face to him, glowing with ruddy happiness in the frosty air, and beamed.

Lucius smiled back. Once again, he knew he was happy. He hadn't stopped to question his actions. Now he knew there was no need. He did not care who judged him. They didn't care for him; why should he care for them?

_Hermione cared._

She was smiling up at him now, her face so open and accepting. Never in his memory had anyone been like that with him. It reminded him of something. He frowned to remember what - he couldn't.

Hermione reached up, her eyes wet with tears. "Lucius ..." Her mouth was open to continue, but the words formed in her mind, not on her lips.

_I think I am in love with you._

She reached up and kissed him tenderly.

They couldn't part for some time, all cold vanishing from around them as they kissed, a closed, tender kiss of complete acceptance.

His mouth eventually moved to her ear. "I want to be inside you."

She laughed. "Not here! You know what the cold does to ... certain parts of the anatomy. I want you as large and magnificent as ever!"

He raised a cynical, disappointed eyebrow. Hermione knew that with their combined magic they could easily create a warmth of sorts, but she thought it wise to play a little hard to get at least. She couldn't indulge his every whim, after all. Keep 'em keen, she smirked to herself. He could at least wait until they were inside. Besides, they had a tree to choose.

She tore herself away from him. His hand fell limply as she slipped from his grasp. Hermione laughed and ran among the trees, assessing each one with over-zealous pickiness.

"Too wide."

"Too thin."

"Too pale."

"Too tall."

"Too sparse."

"Too dense."

She finally stopped, gazing up at a tree looming above her. It must have been about 13 feet tall. She approached it and placed her hand on the trunk. Then, suddenly serious, she turned to him with a sincere smile. "This one."

He approached. "Very well." He looked up at the tree; its dark green branches seeming to reach out to them. He too placed his hand on the trunk. His eyes closed briefly. After a deep sigh, he turned back to her. "I agree. We'll take this one but I'll ensure we' be able to replant it later. It shan't die."

Hermione smiled, surprised by his unexpected empathy with nature. She hugged him tight. "How are we going to get it back to the house? It'll be virtually impossible."

He smirked and produced his wand. "Oh ye of little faith."

With a flick, the mighty tree tore itself slowly from the ground, roots still intact, and rose into the air. Hermione watched the sight before her with incredulity. It must be taking all Lucius' strength to achieve.

The enormous tree rose through the air, moving onto its side. Lucius guided it with his wand. His face looked strained, but apart from that he remained the same smooth operator.

"Come," he strode ahead, quickly moving back to the house. Hermione hurried after. They mustn't take too long over it. They had come at least two miles.

By the time they reached the house, it was clear Lucius was tiring but he didn't stop until he had guided the vast pine into the hallway of his home. It came to rest, planting itself in a huge pot already in place. The tree filled the space of the hallway perfectly, rising up beside the staircase and transforming the once gloomy space with a fertile and verdant majesty.

Hermione stepped back, her mouth open in delight as she stared up at it. "There! What did I say? Perfect!"

"You are right. But it is only now I would dare to admit it."

She spun to him with a broad grin. He was slumped against the wall, his head drooping. The effort required to transport the tree back had clearly exhausted him more than she realised. She crossed to him swiftly.

"You must go and rest. Can I bring you something?"

"Only you."

"You can't think about sex now! You need to sleep!"

He frowned. "That's twice you have denied me. I'm beginning to think you don't want me anymore."

She grinned, leaning into him, running her hand up the inside of his thigh and resting it gently around the heavy fullness she felt between his legs. The object she cupped so gently immediately stirred under her touch. "If you go and have a rest, I promise I'll come up in a while and prove to you that that is so very, _very _much ... _not the case_." She reached up to his ear and breathed gently into it before letting her tongue flit out and quest briefly into the tender space.

He moaned softly but she could tell his energy had been sapped profoundly.

"Go on. Sleep. I have plenty to keep me occupied." She turned to the tree. "I don't suppose you have any decorations do you?"

He looked back at her with cynical disdain. "No."

"Thought as much. Scrooge." She grinned teasingly. He smirked back before finally ascending the staircase.

Hermione took several steps back, slightly overwhelmed by the magnificence of the enormous tree before her. As much as she loved taking the time to decorate trees the Muggle way, this one would definitely require considerable magic. She didn't suppose Grimble would be too keen on the idea of helping.

She took a deep breath and withdrew her wand.

_"Illuminari candelarii!"_

The tree shuddered and shimmered, and then hundreds of white candles placed themselves on the branches, lit and glowing. Already the tree seemed to relish its first decoration. Its branches visibly shone in the candlelight.

Hermione flicked her wand again. "_Decorationi assortimenta!"_ A large box appeared next to her. She opened it, smiling as she saw its contents. It was full of tinsel, baubles, hanging stars, and strings of shining balls and beads.

Hermione had not felt so at peace for some time. She was filled with the same sense of well-being and security that she had had during Christmases at home as a child. How strange that she should recapture those emotions here of all places. It further convinced her that what she had done was right.

There was just one thing to complete the atmosphere. Hermione hadn't been to church for as long as she could remember, but some things made Christmas. With a wave of her wand, the air was filled with the sound of a choir singing Christmas carols. She began to sing along. "The angel Gabriel from heaven came ... his wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame ..."

_Angel ..._

She smiled to herself and began hanging a strand of tinsel on the tree. She continued decorating by hand for nearly an hour, but when, in that time, she had still only managed about one tenth, she resorted to magic.

With a sigh of resignation and exhaustion, she raised her wand and incanted, _"Embellitioni completo!"_

At once, the tree shimmered and sparkled as tinsel and baubles shone from every branch. With another flick of her wand, a thousand tiny lights, some with miniscule wings to give them the appearance of birds, flickered up into the branches, where they moved in and out, creating another dimension to the already magnificent tree.

Hermione stood back and looked at her work with delight and satisfaction. It was beautiful.

Just then she heard footsteps descending the staircase. She glanced up. Lucius moved down swiftly, clearly refreshed. Her heart skipped a beat.

She smiled apprehensively. He gave nothing away and came and stood next to her impassively. Hermione tensed.

Lucius sniffed in and drew himself up.

"What a clever, clever little witch you are."

"Do you like it?" She was still nervous.

He turned and looked down. At length, the corners of his mouth moved, and his face broke into a broad and natural smile.

"I like it very, very much indeed. It is magnificent ... radiant ... like you."

He was smiling so warmly she thought she would burst. Why was his acceptance, his approval so important to her? She had always thought herself impervious to things like that. With him, she found herself craving his appreciation. Was that right? For now, it didn't matter.

Lucius looked back to the tree. "There's something missing. On the top." It was true. She hadn't yet placed anything on the pinnacle of the tree.

Lucius took her hands and held them gently. Reaching up to his own head, he clasped a single strand of his hair. Tugging hard, he pulled it from his scalp. Hermione winced. It shone like silver itself in the glow of the candles. Lucius placed it gently in her palms and brought her hands up between them, encircling his own about them. He closed his eyes and muttered words Hermione could not hear.

Then, opening them again, he gently pushed her hands up to her, so they were before her mouth.

"Blow," he whispered.

Hermione opened her mouth and gently blew her breath over the hair so carefully contained in her palms.

Her hands tingled and were forced open by some great force within. She gasped with astonished delight. Floating in her palms was a star. It looked as if it had been plucked from the heavens themselves. It was three-dimensional and contained six or seven points. It glowed and shimmered with golden beams and seemed to revolve upon itself, its points moving in random circles around the centre. It was translucent but contained within were a myriad of tiny sparkling points of golden light. It was the most captivatingly beautiful object Hermione had ever seen.

"There," Lucius stated with subtle satisfaction. "It contains a little of both of us."

Reaching over, he gently cupped the star and whispered, _"Ascendare arbore."_ It rose into the air, higher and higher, until it came to rest on the very top of the tree. Once there, it seemed to glow ever more ardently, imparting the entire hallway with its golden luminescence.

Hermione encircled her arms about Lucius and held him tightly to her.

"Where did that come from?" she muttered against his chest.

He was confused. "You saw. I took my hair and ..."

"No. I mean ... how did you ... _you_ ... think of it, decide upon it ... you of all people?"

"Do not underestimate me, Miss Granger." He was smirking. "And now ... I think we have some unfinished business." His head descended to hers. She met it with more tender need than ever before. Hermione felt her legs swept out from under her. He had picked her up and in strong, long strides carried her swiftly and effortlessly up to the bedroom.

There was no time for a slow and mutual removal of clothing, they both knew it. With a word from Lucius, their clothes fell away instantly. He guided her to the bed, parted her legs and pushed fully inside. His brows furrowed as her tight hot pleasure engulfed him. He felt as if he had waited weeks, not hours.

Hermione gasped. Each time she forgot his size. Each time, his life force filling her reminded her of her own soul, her own existence. She gripped his back and pulled him ever harder against her. If she could make him melt into her, she would.

His hands came up to hold her head, ensuring her eyes were fixed into his the whole time.

Hermione arched up against him, causing them both to moan as a sudden flash of pleasure gripped them.

"I have to move," he groaned. He'd held back as long as possible, enjoying the contentment of their union as much as the friction of thrusting within her. But now he needed his release.

Hermione nodded, her body in as much need of pleasure as his. "Yes ... please, my darling ... I want to feel you."

Their connection was so profound that they dared not look away from each other. It wasn't long before Hermione found her muscles gripped with the same tense pleasure holding her soul. Lucius continued his thrusts within her, stroking along her clit each time.

"More ... more ... so close ..."

After a final push she came, her eyes at last forced through ecstasy to leave his, rolling back in her head as pleasure ripped through her. Lucius delighted in the feel and sight of her orgasm as much as he knew he would relish his.

He forced her eyes back to his. "Stay, stay, stay ..." She was not sure if he intended her to hear him, but she took it nonetheless.

He came almost immediately and with a juddering intake of breath he released heavy bursts of seed deep within her, his pleasure as intense and gripping as ever before.

At length he fell heavily onto her. She held him closer still.

"I'm here. I'm right here. I'm always here."

Lucius closed his eyes. Once again, he understood happiness.

And they fell asleep.

Down in the noble immensity of the hall of Malfoy Manor, the star on the top of the tree shone brightly.

* * *

**Well, this is down as 'romance' so ... it's romantic. (It's also down as drama, I see ... hmm ...) **


	13. Chapter 13

Days passed. Hermione and Lucius ate together, talked together, and slept together.

More boards came down, more shutters were opened. Light flooded into Malfoy Manor. The star on top of the Christmas tree shone brightly.

Hermione had surreptitiously begun to clean the house. She did not seek permission for this, neither did she announce her intentions. She used charms on the whole, working when no one was around. The house would benefit from a thorough Muggle spring cleaning at some point, but it felt good to make a start. If Lucius or Grimble noticed, they didn't comment, but neither did they complain. That in itself was a relief to Hermione.

Her desire to address the matter of the house's neglect struck her as odd. It was perfectly habitable as it was, to say the least. But she felt a strong inclination to do something. Her feelings, she knew, arose from an almost possessive instinct. She dared not mention it to Lucius, but she felt a sense of belonging. For the first time since she had been at Hogwarts, Hermione felt at home.

She felt so at home that her other life had slipped far from her consciousness.

The two of them moved easily from hour to hour, day to day, entirely content with each other's minds and bodies. They would eat in the large kitchen, which was more alive and vibrant than ever before. One lunchtime they sat together enjoying more of Grimble's consistently excellent food.

The house-elf shuffled miserably across to Lucius, seemingly intent on spoiling the atmosphere between them. "I saw a mouse in the vegetable pantry this morning, Master."

Lucius sighed. "Wretched creatures. Very well, Grimble, I'll see what charms I can find to rid the place of them."

"Doesn't always work, Master. Vermin can be immune to magic."

Lucius rolled his eyes with frustrated displeasure. "Well ... set a trap or something ... get a cat."

Hermione stopped in mid-chew. "Oh my God."

"What is it?" Lucius looked up with concern at the clear alarm in her voice.

"Ermintrude."

He merely stared at her, not understanding.

"My cat."

"Oh."

Hermione stood with fierce panic, wringing her hands through her hair. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, she'll be dead, she's dead, I know."

Grimble smirked a leering sneer at her anxiety before shuffling out.

"I doubt that very much. She is a cat. She will look after herself. You yourself said she often stole food from other houses." Lucius' calm and rational tones lessened the alarm, but Hermione's feelings immediately shifted to guilt.

"She'll hate me."

"Perhaps."

She glared at him. "Thanks for the reassurance."

He shrugged dispassionately but found her fierce loyalty to her pet strangely reassuring.

"I have to go. And ... oh shit, Lucius. I haven't done any work in the library for days. This is hopeless. I've got to come back - Shacklebolt is expecting a report."

His eyes hardened somewhat. He appreciated her concern for those things dear to her but felt suddenly robbed of the intimacy and care she had displayed for him. It made him reel.

Lucius spoke abruptly. "Of course you've got to come back, but not for that imbecile."

"He's not an imbecile."

Lucius raised his eyebrows in disagreement. Hermione rushed to the door.

As her presence was pulled from him he could stand no more. He followed her swiftly, slamming the door in her face before she could get out. "Slow down, slow down. Talk to me. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to feed my cat."

"And then?"

"I'm coming back here."

"For what?"

"I have to work."

"And?"

She looked at him with a frown. Her sense of responsibility had for a moment eradicated any other thought. He admired it but could not let her go without the reassurance of her focus on what they had. His need surprised him, but he persisted in it. He held her gaze in the crystal grey of his eyes. Hermione relaxed and breathed out.

"And for you. For you, my darling."

Lucius felt that deep glow returning with rapid and staggering potency. He smiled and bent to kiss her. She returned it, gently at first, but could not prevent her tongue slipping inside to taste his reassuring warmth.

He moved to her ear, running his tongue lightly along it. "When you come back, you will stay. You said you would stay. You remember."

"Yes. But ..."

"But what?"

"I sometimes need my independence. I like it." She whispered it barely audibly between sighs as he nibbled her earlobe.

"You can return to your home whenever you wish, as long as ..."

"What?"

"You come back to me."

"Of course." How could she not?

His lips were on her neck now. She held him there.

"But what about ...?"

"Hmm ...?"

"My cat."

"I will be more than happy to have your pussy staying here."

She could not suppress the giggle rippling from her. "Won't you mind?"

"No."

"She's a very clean cat."

"I'm sure she is."

Lips exploring neck.

"You can stroke her if you like."

"Thank you."

Hand reaching down, searching.

"She'd like that."

"Hmm."

"I have to go now."

"Goodbye then."

"Lucius?"

"Are you still here?"

"Could you take your hand away from there?"

"Is it absolutely necessary?"

"I think so."

"Why?"

"I have to travel over a hundred miles."

With a determined grunting sigh, he pulled back, extracting his fingers from their favourite place.

"Go quickly. Don't be long."

She smiled deeply. "I won't, don't worry."

With that she walked out. Lucius was left alone in the kitchen.

"I do worry," he said softly to the silence.

* * *

Hermione called loudly for Ermintrude as soon as she entered her flat. Luckily there was a cat flap in a window over the fire exit, enabling the Maine Coon to come and go as she pleased.

There was not a sound. Hermione's heart quickened with panic. Her cat normally had an instinctive sense of when her mistress returned and would come in within a minute and rub around her legs appreciatively. Guilt swamped the witch. She went through all the rooms calling, searching Ermintrude's favourite sleeping spots. Nothing.

With a growing sense of dread, Hermione at length returned to the kitchen. There, sitting, a look of disdainful grievance on her face, was her cat. After fixing her mistress with a stare which could have curdled milk, she simply turned her elegant head to look across at the stock of cat food.

Hermione exhaled audibly with relief. "Oh, Ermintrude! I am so sorry, my sweetheart. Come here." She bent down and picked up the cat, smothering it with affection. The animal squawked disapprovingly. Hermione rubbed her tummy. It felt round and full. She had clearly not been starving.

"Well, Ermintrude, you're coming with me. We're going to stay somewhere else for some time. You'll love it. Lots to explore. Many places to hide. I'm sorry I've been away so long, my love. It won't happen again. I've been a bit ... distracted."

Ermintrude's look of insolent disapproval had not improved, but Hermione put her down and went to pack a suitcase with some more clothes, not that she'd had much need for clothes over the last few days. She packed haphazardly, not wanting to stay longer than necessary. Already she was missing him.

When she was ready, she left a note under a neighbour's door asking her to keep an eye on things and saying that she would not be living at the flat for some time but would be popping back regularly to check on it.

With that she picked up her suitcase, tucked Ermintrude firmly under her arm, and disapparated to the Manor.

The cat was distinctly unimpressed by apparition, and Hermione had to keep a tight hold on her once she arrived. She bared her claws and dug them into her mistress's arm, trying to get away.

"It's alright. It's alright, sweetie. We're here now."

Luckily, Lucius opened the door quickly and she carried the animal inside, clutching her tight to her chest. Hermione was in such a rush to get inside that she didn't see the look of melting joy spread over her lover's face at her return.

Ermintrude let out a disgruntled 'miaow', drawing both their attentions down to her.

Hermione held her cat close, eyeing Lucius as he moved his gaze down to the large furry creature occupying a place he thought he had reserved for himself.

"Lucius ... this is Ermintrude. Ermintrude ... Lucius."

The two sleek creatures eyed each other suspiciously. Then, in a swift but smooth motion, Lucius took the animal carefully from Hermione's grasp and held it aloft. Hermione expected the cat to snarl and bite and struggle to break free. She did not. Instead she hung quite placidly in the wizard's grip and turned her large eyes to look upon him.

"Hello, cat." Lucius' words were appraising.

After a moment's evaluation wizard and feline accepted each other. Lucius held Ermintrude against him, his graceful fingers moving elegantly through her long fur. A loud purr rose audibly from the animal.

Hermione smiled in amazement. "She likes you."

Lucius smirked across at her. "Of course. I know how to stroke a pussy."

Hermione shot him a withering look. "Arrogant bastard," she mumbled, walking from them to the kitchen to get a drink.

Lucius followed and placed Ermintrude down on the slate floor. The cat soon began to sniff her way around her new home. She seemed, to Hermione's delight, more than content.

Hermione had a long drink of water. As she stood at the sink, long arms came around her waist and encircled her, warm lips quested quickly down to her neck. Her eyes closed and she allowed him his reacquaintance.

"I missed you," he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over her neck.

"Me too."

It was the truth, although in reality she had been gone only an hour or so. Hermione sighed, glad to have achieved her first aim of the day.

"Well, that's part one of my mission accomplished. Now for part two."

"Which is?"

"Your library."

"I'd forgotten about that."

"So had I for a bit. But I mustn't. It has to be done."

Lucius glanced at the clock. "It's nearly three o'clock already. Don't work longer than two hours."

She grinned. "Alright. Just for you."

He returned her smile. "Grimble has some lobster for dinner."

"Bit extravagant, isn't it?"

"Is it?" He looked bewildered. The thought of culinary excess had clearly never occurred to him.

She lowered her head with a faint smile. "Never mind. I'm off then. Ermintrude - be good."

Her cat looked up at her as if to say, "Haven't you gone yet?"

With a smile at them both Hermione went upstairs to the library.

Lucius stared after her. She was back in his house. And she would stay. He flicked his hand, and more boards vanished from the high windows in the kitchen.

* * *

The shutters had been thrown back on all the windows in the library too. At first, Hermione was not sure she liked the bright new atmosphere. She had grown used to it as it was, had made it hers. Still, as she glanced at the many shelves and volumes lining them, her heart swelled yet again. With a deep sigh of contentment, she settled down at the desk and opened the last volume she had been working on.

She managed to get a lot done in a short time, so enthused was she by her work. She had found a lover, she was living in a glorious home, her cat was safely with her. The fact that the lover was Lucius Malfoy and the home was Malfoy Manor was conveniently suppressed.

Life, at the moment, was wonderful.

As usual, she found nothing provocative amongst the books she perused. As five o'clock approached she heeded Lucius' words and decided to finish for the day. She began sending books back to their locations magically, floating them up to the high shelves. But she somehow missed the rigour of mounting the ladder, and placing a book with satisfying manual precision into the right slot. She held a volume in her hand which belonged on a high shelf she had finished with a while ago. Pulling the ladder along, she started up it carefully. Scanning the shelves, she found the gap and replaced the book in it. She was just about to descend again when her eyes fell on another volume, immediately recognisable.

_The Book of Desire._

Hermione's belly jolted. How could she have forgotten? After her relationship with Lucius started, the book had been pushed to the back of her mind. Her hand reached across. _Why not?_

Carefully, she pulled it off the shelf. Again, a tingle of magic seemed to travel along her arm as she did so. Hermione descended the ladder and placed the book almost reverently on the table. Her hand ran idly, sensuously, over the intricate lettering on the thick front cover, but she did not open it. A distant clock struck five. The real thing was waiting for her downstairs. The book could wait. She lifted it carefully and placed it in a drawer in the desk.

Hermione turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Lucius was indeed waiting for her in the sitting room. As soon as she walked in, he placed a glass of wine in her hand and motioned for her to sit down. The chairs which usually stood beside the fire had been replaced by a large sofa. He joined her on it, placing his arm around her and pulling her in tight. She closed her eyes and nestled into him. She really was at home, she knew it. Ermintrude jumped up and began to settle onto her lap. But before she became comfortable, the cat padded across to Lucius and curled up instead on his lap.

"Oh." Hermione couldn't help but feel slighted.

Lucius smirked at her, stroking Ermintrude leisurely.

Hermione turned and drank from her wine. Both man and beast seemed happy. She supposed she should be too. With a roll of her eyes at the fickleness of feline affection she took another drink and settled against Lucius.

"Did you get much done?" he drawled softly.

She sighed and stretched back. "Yes, more than I'd anticipated. I love it up there. It's all going well. I might not be finished, but I'll be able to present something to Kingsley soon."

Lucius reached up and stroked her hair silently.

"Would you like to go out tomorrow evening?"

She hesitated.

"Well, I could, I suppose, but ... I like being here with you."

"Don't be foolish. I will come with you."

She turned to him in amazement. "Really?"

He smiled. "Really."

Her face broke into the broadest grin. "But where?"

"Do you like Shakespeare? We could go to Stratford, to the theatre."

She didn't immediately speak. She could recall a conversation where she'd suggested just that. He hadn't taken it well at the time.

Now Lucius turned, expecting an answer. "I presume you _do_ like Shakespeare?" His voice was mockingly terse.

"I ... yes ... of course, but ... there are only Muggle theatres in Stratford."

"Yes."

"I ... but ..." She was stammering pathetically, confused.

"I think venturing out in public in our own world would be potentially disagreeable, don't you? A little anonymity is advisable."

She grinned and flung her arms around him. "I would love that."

"Very well. _Twelfth Night_, tomorrow evening. I bought the tickets today."

"Lucius, I ..."

At that moment Grimble shuffled in. Ermintrude hissed at him. Grimble hissed back.

"Dinner is ready."

"Thank you, Grimble. Stay there, cat." Lucius spoke with more affection than he intended, replacing Ermintrude in a cosy spot on the sofa as he stood.

Hermione remembered what was for supper. "Lobster ..."

"A trifle excessive perhaps, but occasionally ..."

She smirked and allowed herself to be pulled into the kitchen.

As they ate, Lucius spoke fluidly about his work with the Ministry before the war; he had occasionally been employed as a consultant. He avoided mention of Voldemort's influence, not through deliberate deceit, Hermione sensed, but because it pained him to talk about it. There was no need to press him.

As they went to bed that night Ermintrude remained curled up on the sofa and opened an eye to them as they left.

"Does she usually sleep on your bed?"

"No. I'd allow her if she wanted, but she prefers her own space. She's often out at night anyway."

"There's a window open in the kitchen. She can get in and out through there. I've set a homing charm on the area so that she knows where to return."

"Thank you. Look at her." She smiled down at the large ball of fur. "She's quite disgustingly happy there. She'll be fine. Come on."

It was her turn to lead him upstairs. His attitude to her animal, the prospect of going to the theatre, her rediscovery of the Book of Desire, all combined to raise her passionate need quickly again. As soon as they were inside, she turned to him and began removing his clothes urgently. He didn't stop her. She found him hard and as desperate as she, and she lay back on the bed, her body open and ready for him. It took only a moment for him to enter her.

Their lovemaking was tender and giving, both so aware of the other's needs. Once again, Hermione was surprised at his selflessness.

So was Lucius. He couldn't recall the last time he had focused so much on another person's needs, physical or emotional. How strange that a Muggle-born should bring about this feeling of sheer contentment. At a moment in his life when he should be questioning more than ever, he had no desire to do so, no need to. Things simply felt right. And as the woman under him released her pleasure with a soft moan of ecstasy, he knew they were.

* * *

The next evening after another fruitful day's work Hermione prepared to go out. She realised that her heart was racing with excitement. How many times had she been to the theatre before? The visits were innumerable. But the prospect of going with Lucius and not having to be concerned with gossip and spying eyes was beyond words.

She dressed simply but elegantly, wearing tight black trousers and a dusty pink top, fitted but feminine with a sequin detail around the neck. She finished it with heels. Hermione allowed herself a little more make-up than usual and practically threw herself down the stairs to her waiting lover.

Lucius cast his eyes over her as she rushed towards him. He said nothing but she saw his lips jig in appreciation. He helped her on with her coat and bent to kiss her softly on the lips.

He had dispensed with his robes but still looked every inch the noble pureblood. He wore a white shirt under a black three piece suit through which ran a thin white pinstripe. His hair was tied back, and after an elegant glance at his fob watch, the gold chain of which was draped gracefully from the waistcoat pocket, he offered his arm to her.

"Shall we?"

She smiled and took his arm. He led her from the house and then apparated them both to a quiet spot near the river Avon. Lucius held her tight as she swayed from the apparition.

"All right?" he queried with genuine concern.

She nodded but did not let go of his arms.

He encircled one tight around her and they walked gently along the river path towards the theatre. Couples, dog walkers, all manner of people passed them by. Nobody gave them a second glance, apart from the occasional envious or contented acknowledgement of their clear happiness.

After a pre-theatre drink at the bar they took their seats. Hermione was gripped by the production but every now and then turned to steal a surreptitious glance at Lucius to gauge his reaction. He seemed enthralled. Sitting back, she held his hand tight. He closed his fingers around hers and kept his hand there for the remainder of the play.

Afterwards, they strolled back to the secluded spot at which they'd arrived. It was a cold night and Hermione nestled against him to keep warm.

"Thank you. That was wonderful."

"Indeed. For once, an enlightened Muggle."

"I presume you refer to Mr Shakespeare?" she said with mock formality.

"I do. Having said that, I cannot believe he was a Muggle. A man of such intellectual powers must have been a wizard."

She smiled at his return to presumptuous prejudice but did not deny it him. "There's nothing to suggest that. He was just very ... human."

"Is being merely human enough?"

"Sometimes, yes." Hermione paused and looked up at him. "I enjoy your company for your human qualities, Lucius, not your magical ones. And I hope you could say the same for me."

"Hm." She took his murmur as agreement. Her heart swelled. They continued in silence for some time, walking slowly, not wishing to break the simple pleasure of the moment. After some time, Lucius said plainly, "We must do this again soon."

She tightened her grip on his arm. "Lucius?"

"Hmm?"

"I can't remember the last time I was this happy."

Lucius stopped and turned to her, looking down at her open face, flushed in the chill air, her soft breath escaping in innocent life-affirming clouds. At that moment, she was the purest thing he had ever beheld. He held her chin tenderly and bent to kiss the dark full lips.

"Neither can I."

Hermione turned and continued to walk. If she hadn't, she would have started weeping.

They went up to bed swiftly after returning home and eventually allowed sleep to carry them away from the awareness of each other's presence.

The next day, Hermione rose early to return to the library. She was newly invigorated and inspired to work. Lucius remained asleep, his naked form half in, half out of the covers. Hermione exhaled in wonder at the sight. She was tempted to cross to him and run her hand over the smooth elegance of his physical form and wake him; her body was so attuned to their joining. But she cared too much to disturb his rest. She smiled softly and planted the lightest of kisses on his shoulder before leaving the room silently.

She settled at her desk and the hours ticked away. It was soon eleven. Hermione stretched, her limbs aching after being bent over the books all morning. As she straightened herself, her eyes fell on the drawer in the desk. She remembered what she'd placed in it the other day.

Her skin prickled. Reaching down, she pulled open the drawer.

There were creaks along the corridor. She could hear muted conversation between master and house-elf. Lucius was awake. Heavy footsteps approached the library. She heard the door handle turning. Closing her eyes, her mind pictured his long body lying languidly on the covers as she had left him earlier.

Hermione smiled to herself. She took the heavy volume from the drawer and placed it before her.

Pulling back the heavy covers, she opened the Book of Desire.


	14. Chapter 14

**Things are happening. Most of them of an adult nature. Hope you're enjoying the ride. LL x**

* * *

The first image revealed itself.

A woman was leaning over a stone bench in a forest and behind her stood her lover, his rigid erection pressing deep into her supple body. Her head was back, arched to allow him access to her long neck. One hand was wrapped around her body, cupping her breast, delicately squeezing the nipple. The other quested down between her legs, searching out her womanhood.

The expression on both their faces was of sheer rapt pleasure.

Hermione's insides jerked, her breathing deepened. A smell filled her nostrils. Spicy ... reminding her of Christmas.

Lucius did not speak. He had come in silently. She didn't feel him against her for some time but sensed his presence. The air hung heavy with sensual anticipation. She knew he stood a mere breath away from her; she could feel the regular deep exhalations of air on the back of her neck.

Her eyes had closed as expectation pushed her beyond the limit of awareness, but she forced them open again to stare down at the image before her. She wanted it to move, needed it to.

She was wearing a skirt and buttoned shirt. Hands gently held her arms, guiding her up out of her chair and moving it smoothly to the side. She felt fingers on the zip of her skirt, sliding it down. It fell gently from her legs and pooled at her feet. Stepping out of it, she lightly moved it to the side. Then hands reached around her front, and those same nimble fingers began undoing each button in turn on her shirt, slowly and deliberately.

Still she dared not look around for fear she would break the deep erotic contentment of the moment.

The hands had now moved in to cup her breasts firmly but tenderly, reaching inside her bra and pulling the fullness out to grip assuredly.

Hermione moaned.

Lucius lowered his head to her neck. One hand moved from her breast to draw her hair aside, and she felt soft kisses placed specifically but deliciously along the rise of her shoulder. The hand which had moved her hair aside now quested lower and found her wet and ripe, always ready for him. He reached into her knickers, pushing them down to allow him freedom. A long finger stroked up, firm, deliberate, up to circle her clit. She sucked in a sharp breath, drawing her primed body up. She couldn't contain herself much longer.

Her eyes fell once again onto the picture; it struck her forcefully that she and Lucius were enacting the image before her. But still it didn't move as they did.

She could feel Lucius pressing hard against her back. A low groan of his own was muffled against her neck. His hand moved from her breast to release himself.

Hermione reached down, fumbling to find his hand. She came against it and with tremendous willpower removed it from its perfect attentions to her dripping core. Her fingers entwined urgently with his. Lucius guided his cock with the other. She could feel it pressing hard and damp along her. He pushed her over a gently and positioned himself at her opening.

Then his hand withdrew from his throbbing erection and came round, finding hers and clasping it tight.

And then, their breathing heavy and uncontainable, their joined hands moved to the page before them. Slowly and deliberately, they brought them to rest on the book.

With a gasp of wonder, Hermione saw the image begin to move before her eyes. The two lovers swayed, rocking in erotic bliss, entirely absorbed in each other. And there, as she watched, she saw the faces shift and change. Their features were morphing before her very eyes. The man's hair became longer, blond, the woman's brown and curly. The image had changed to show perfect likenesses of them both.

Their hands remained on the page, but before Hermione could fully process the magic presented to her, she felt him large and rigid once again, poised to enter her. She pushed back to welcome him. With perfect precision Lucius eased in, and with a deep grunt of satisfaction, pushed fully into her.

The two representations of them on the page moved in perfect harmony with their corporeal bodies. Lucius started to pull out, then push back into her in long slow strokes, his mouth still drawing further pleasure from her supple neck, his eyes as firmly trained on the image as hers.

Hermione moaned. She could no longer prevent breaking the silence around her.

A pulse of magic ran fast up her arms. She looked down. The illuminations on the page seemed more vivid, more gilded than ever, alight with an almost iridescent glow, akin to the shimmer of stardust.

Every time Lucius withdrew even a little from her, she felt a pang of loss, and craved him back inside her as deep as he could be.

He didn't increase his pace and as she felt her pleasure building slowly, her body became taut with need. She moaned again, her hand coming up to hold him hard against her.

"More, more. Harder, I want to feel you harder, faster."

With a groan of his own, he thrust faster, pulling out fully before ploughing back into her to the hilt.

"_Yes!"_ she groaned, still keeping one hand firmly entwined with his on the image. Still the picture of the two of them moved. The magic was now pulsing hard up her arm. She felt strength surging through her.

Lucius' free hand had come up to her breast and he massaged it with tender affection.

It wasn't enough.

"Harder. _Do it. I need it_."

His own desire was at such a peak that he didn't question her. His fingers closed around the taut nipple and he squeezed. The woman in his arms moaned with sheer pleasured agony.

_"Fuck, yes!"_

The word that fell from Hermione's lips was not for her a usual one, but under the circumstances it made his cock swell ever more within her. He felt the hot walls of her tight pussy constricting yet harder around him. "So good, witch, _so good."_

Still she craved more.

"Harder, harder. Fuck me harder. I want it now. _I want to come. _Fuck me, _fuck me, Lucius_. Make me come. Make me come so hard I scream."

If she was more vocal than normal, he didn't mind or hardly notice. Her words merely drove him faster and faster towards ecstasy.

Still his hand plied her nipple, still his cock ploughed relentlessly into her. She was moaning uncontrollably now, grinding herself back against him, her hips jolting to meet each thrust.

The lovers on the page, a mirror image of them both in face and body, moved as violently as they did. Lucius caught a glance at the picture as he pushed fully into her once again. Blood rushed to his groin, all energy contained only there.

"There, there, witch! Feel it, _feel me_. For you! _For you!"_

He couldn't stop himself bursting hard and deep into her, feeling each spasm of his seed as it hit her very core.

Hermione joined him immediately. With a cry starting deep in her soul pleasure gripped her body, focused around the rock hard cock buried inside. At that moment the glowing page of the book seemed almost to leap out at her, its illuminations blinding in their intensity. The magic surged ever stronger up her arm, fast and overwhelming, bringing her the most profound orgasm she could recall.

She clenched her fingers around his on the page and screamed her ecstasy out, her cry resounding off the books surrounding them. "I'm coming! I'm coming so hard! Fuck! _Fuck, Lucius! _Never before!"

Her body shook uncontrollably. If it was not for the fact she was impaled on his rigidity, she would have collapsed. Every fibre in her being clenched around him, gripping his body so closely she wanted him fused to her. Her pleasure surged through her over and over again, her first orgasm seeming to lead into another. Her cry was maintained on the air around them, reflecting the rapture experienced by her body.

Only when the last twinges had left them both did they at last remove their hands from the page.

The image came to rest and the faces of the couple reverted to normal.

Hermione glanced at their hands. Lucius' were streaked with blood, so hard had been her grip on them.

He could not bear to pull out of her, but their bodies needed to rest, and with a grunt of loss he slipped out carefully. Hermione immediately collapsed down onto the floor, her breathing still hard and heavy.

She rested her head back against the drawers of the desk. Lucius came to slump beside her, his eyes closing.

After some time she looked across at him, her body still heaving with astonishment. "Oh my God, oh my God, that was incredible. Incredible, my darling, my darling. Thank you."

He smiled. "My pleasure ... literally. As well as yours."

"Oh yes," she panted.

After his breathing had steadied somewhat, he said with mild amusement, "You were certainly very vocal."

Hermione looked at him with surprise, her eyes still bleary. "What do you mean?"

Lucius glanced at her, not sure what she meant. Her words had been loud and clear as far as he was concerned. "Well, I'm not used to you making your needs so explicit."

Hermione looked at him for some time, a slight frown on her face. She couldn't recall exactly what she'd said. Clearly, she'd been completely carried away in the moment.

"Oh ... well ... there we are ... You didn't mind did you?"

He smiled at her. "Certainly not. Far from it. I cannot recall the last time my pleasure was so powerful."

She nestled against him. "I'll go back to being quiet little Miss Granger from now on."

He chuckled. "Anything you want, but there is no need for my sake. You are perfect any way."

"And you ... are too, too delicious." She reached up to kiss him.

"Prove it," he smirked.

She smiled. "As soon as I've recovered." Hermione snuggled deep into him, stroking along his torso. "The book. It's remarkable. Did you see how the picture changed into images of us? I could almost felt the magic transferring into me. My pleasure was extraordinary. I felt so completely at one with you, with my body. I'm sure it was enhanced by the magic in the book."

"I do not doubt it. I told you; only when the purest sexual union is achieved through the book can the magic be fully released."

They lay still for a while longer, unable to move.

At length, Hermione pushed herself up, and with a last contented look at the page of the book, closed it. It seemed as if the page was still alight as she had seen it earlier, sparkling before her very eyes. She folded over the heavy cover and moved it to the side of the desk.

"God, I'm hungry now. Is it time for lunch yet?"

"It can be."

Hermione glanced at the clock as she dressed. It was approaching twelve. "Grimble will moan that we're early. Too bad. I put up with so much from that elf of yours."

Lucius smiled at her. She was usually so deferential to Grimble. It was about time she asserted herself a little. He hauled himself off the floor and took her hand.

"Come along. I'm sure he will provide anything we want, albeit begrudgingly."

He led her from the library down the stairs. Grimble was not there.

"Grimble!" Lucius called loudly through the house. "Grimble!"

Hermione eventually heard the familiar shuffle of slow footsteps. Her heart sank. She crossed her arms as he slouched into the kitchen.

"Yes, master?" came the reluctant enquiry.

"Miss Granger and I require lunch as soon as possible. Some salmon and potatoes, beans perhaps. Thank you."

Grimble sneered. "Lunch is not for another hour, master."

"I realise that, but we require it as soon as possible, please." Lucius didn't expect instant results, simply rapid ones, and spoke politely enough to his house-elf.

"It will take some time. And I have to fetch the potatoes from below stairs. Master never has his lunch at such a time. I cannot be expected to come up with -"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Grimble, just do as you're told!"

It was Hermione's voice which cut through the air. Lucius turned to her, unable to hide his amazement.

Grimble too was frozen in astonishment, his surprise at her sudden declaration over-riding any anger at her tone of voice. But then his face twisted into a sneer of utter hatred, but he did not move.

Hermione stopped. She replayed her own words in her head as if spoken by someone else. They surprised even her. But, as she had said earlier, she put up with so much from the elf. It was about time he left the attitude behind. She pursed her lips and drew herself up but knew her cheeks were flushed. She daren't look at Lucius; she knew he was still staring hard at her.

At length, prompted perhaps by the sudden animosity of the witch, Grimble reluctantly but silently turned and left the room to prepare things.

Lucius came over to her, his confused expression shifting into that now familiar look of tenderness. "Well, you must certainly be hungry. I've never heard you so assertive."

She looked down, mumbling, "Well, I told you, he needs to be more respectful to me, and to you for that matter."

"He works hard for me," Lucius told her calmly and truthfully.

Hermione turned her head away, wanting to move on from the business.

"Never mind." She shrugged the disagreeable incident off. What did it matter what Grimble thought? "Have you got a copy of the Daily Prophet?" She asked merely to purge the matter from her mind.

He smirked at her and went to retrieve it from the sitting room.

When Lucius returned he found Hermione still standing in the middle of the kitchen. She smiled as he entered, her good humour seemingly restored. She stood with her legs slightly apart, one hand on her hips, looking him up and down. She looked ridiculously sexy. Still, she had asked for the newspaper. He held it out for her. "There you are."

She didn't take it, merely continued smiling at him, her eyes occasionally dropping down his body. Lucius turned away, putting the paper on the table. "I'll leave it there for you."

Hermione seemed not to be remotely interested in the paper. She began moving towards him, slowly and sensuously. Her intentions had most definitely shifted. "I seem to recall you asking me to prove how delicious you were." Her hands were moving up his chest, curling around the nape of his neck.

Lucius sucked in a breath, already he could feel himself stirring again. His lover's appetite for food was suddenly reflected in her appetite for sex. He was not complaining.

"I thought you were hungry."

"I am," she smirked, letting her hands trail down his front, undoing the buttons on his trousers and releasing his ever hardening cock into her fingers.

Lucius groaned but was aware that Grimble could return any moment. "Perhaps we should go somewhere ... more private."

But already she had knelt before him, and with a swift and fluid motion her tongue came out and licked around the head of his now fully erect cock. He hissed with pleasure, drawing his hand down to hold her there. Hermione started working fervently, pulling him deep into her, sucking her cheeks in hard around his considerable length, licking, tasting, swirling her nimble tongue rapidly over him.

"Hermione ... _gods, Hermione_ ... so good, _so good_ ..."

His head hung limply down, staring at the sight before him. The sex they'd enjoyed so far had been staggering but always tender and giving. Her new found ardour took him by surprise, but he found himself without the wherewithal or desire to question it. Blood pulsed fast around his head. Her mouth worked him ever more skilfully, taking him deep before pulling up to lick teasingly into the slit. But through the rush of pleasure filling his head came a regular thud - approaching footsteps.

With his last vestige of reason, he pulled back from her, his cock purple and dripping. She reacted with a groan of loss, but he quickly bent down to pull her to her feet and out of the room. Grimble arrived back just as the door was shutting behind them.

"Hounds of hell, that was close!" Lucius hissed, not with anger but adrenaline. Hermione hardly noticed. She pushed him hard against the wall in the hallway and immediately returned to her unfinished business. He didn't stop her.

Hermione gripped his lower length in one hand, cupped his heavy sac in the other, and with a few more deep drags of her exquisite mouth over his smooth head, he knew he was close.

"I'm going to come, I'm going to come, witch. Wait, pull off me." He fumbled for a handkerchief.

She flung his hand away. "No! I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth. Come into me." She lowered her head to him a final time. Lucius was beyond rational thought. As her tongue swept hard over him again he burst heavily into her, his white seed falling thick into her mouth.

His groan of fulfilment echoed through the cavernous hallway.

Hermione sank back onto the floor, holding him in her mouth. Lucius glanced down long enough to see her neck muscles tense to swallow him, her eyes closed in apparent bliss. He couldn't deny her perfection.

He slumped down beside her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I would not have presumed."

"I didn't want it any other way." She smiled at him. "You see, you are a gentleman after all."

He smiled back, unsure what to say but wanting to address his curiosity. "Have you always done that?"

She thought about it for a moment and the answer took her a little by surprise. "No."

It was true. She had never particularly enjoyed the act, and when she had indulged a partner she had never allowed them to come in her mouth. This was the first time. She certainly didn't have any qualms now. She smiled at him. "Just for you, Lucius."

He kissed her gently in thanks before standing and adjusting his clothing.

He pulled her to her feet and she fell heavily into him with a smirk.

"Come along. Lunch may be ready."

They ate the meal Grimble had provided without a repeat of Hermione's temper. The elf remained out of the kitchen as much as possible.

"I'm afraid I have to go out this afternoon. I've a meeting with the owner of some of the adjacent land to discuss some boundary issues."

"Is he a wizard?"

"No."

"And you tolerate him?" She spoke with teasing exaggeration. He gave her a mock glare of disapproval.

"I rarely see him, but it is important to make the effort to remain on good terms with these people."

"Does he know what you are?"

"Of course not. He just thinks I'm an eccentric English landowner like him."

Hermione realised she was going to be deprived of his company for much of the rest of the day. She set her mouth into a petulant sulk. "I don't want you to go out."

"I'm afraid it's essential sometimes, even for me. You yourself encourage it."

"I know, but I thought we could ... you know ... go back to bed."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. It was only a day or so ago that their roles had been reversed and she had been the one keen to get out of the house. "I think we can manage until later. We've generated enough memories this morning alone to sustain us." Hermione didn't return his laugh.

Lucius frowned. She was clearly still in a bit of a mood. He shrugged it off. He had known enough women not to let it get to him. Still, it was unusual for Hermione to give into petulant mood swings.

"I'll see you later. You can get lots of work done without me harassing you."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

He stood and moved round to her. She pushed her chair back and stood also, turning to him. He reached in and kissed her cheek. Immediately, she turned her head and met his mouth with her lips, opening wide for him. Lucius was swept away instantly again in her passion. For a time he could not move and returned the kiss with equal ardour. But reality eventually intervened. He was due at his meeting. Extricating her hands from around his neck, he pulled back.

"My dear, I really must go."

She tried in vain to recapture his mouth. "I want you. I want you all the time. You are so beautiful, so beautiful."

"Hermione." His voice was firm. "I'm going now. I'll see you later."

And before he could change his mind, he strode forcefully away from her and out of the kitchen.

Hermione folded her arms and stared after him. She huffed, resentment brewing within her. He never went out alone. Shaking herself, she exhaled deeply and contemplated returning to work but decided against it. Instead, she retrieved the Daily Prophet from the kitchen table and took it into the sitting room to read. The library could wait.

Upstairs on the desk the pages of the Book of Desire were still glowing.


	15. Chapter 15

As Lucius Malfoy returned from his meeting, his thoughts travelled to the woman awaiting him in his home. He had been as reluctant as she to part from her earlier, and his footsteps carried him rapidly along the frozen ground in anticipation of what would greet him on his arrival.

His body felt more relaxed, more at ease with itself than for an age. The glow which ran through every particle of his being when he thought of her bore him swiftly back to Hermione.

He looked ahead of him, his cane placed in a spot which his feet then moved into, his eyes trained on it. Yet he wasn't seeing the ground or his well-polished shoes placed regularly upon it. He could see only large brown eyes open with lust for him, her beautiful mouth encircling his manhood, more engorged for her than he thought possible. As he strode along, he once again felt the shifting in his groin.

Her body was a revelation to him, her sexual ardour and skill staggering. He confessed, it was beyond what he had imagined. It brought out in him feelings and proclivities he had had no use for in many years.

And this morning alone ...

He groaned aloud. Satisfaction did not come better than that. Her perfect body, her clear desire and need, her coarse language. He wanted more.

Lucius doubted her ardour would remain at such a peak for long. He suspected her heady lust and the flash of anger she had exhibited at Grimble were a mere hormonal anomaly.

_Women_.

He rolled his eyes a little as he walked. It had been some time since he had had to tread softly around the myriad of potholes split open by a woman's temper. Still, for her, he would subdue his natural reactions. She was worth it. Perhaps it was the moon. He glanced up into the clear darkening sky. The moon was about three-quarters full, waning. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. _Perhaps not._

But despite the urgent sexual longing she stirred in him, it was not just her body he desired and that he now found himself obsessed with. The witch presented him with such wondrous emotional and intellectual satisfaction and companionship. It was those things which he craved above all else. He had been wrong, he could admit it now. And she had found him. She had opened him. His soul swelled with the light now flooding into his once dark house.

_Mudblood._

His cane tapped the ground rhythmically, faster and faster in an effort to get back to her.

Did he care?

_No._

He smirked to himself.

_Hermione._

She had been lonely too. She had been searching. And she had found him. He would not let her down.

_Perfection._

He turned his eyes upwards. He was nearly home. The lights flickered hospitably. Never could he recall his house looking so welcoming.

He practically flew the remaining yards up the path.

On entering the house, he tossed aside his outer cloak and called loudly. "I'm back!" His voice resounded through the great house.

Footsteps sounded quickly. His face broke into the widest smile as he saw her running towards him. But, before he could even take off his gloves, she had flung herself against him, showering him in kisses, gripping his head and plundering his mouth.

"I missed you. I missed you so much, so much. Now, now, I can't wait, Lucius, now."

His body did not allow him to process the surprise of his mind as his cock responded immediately to the lithe body pressing itself against him.

"Upstairs, we must go upstairs, my darling." He tried to pull back from her to lead her.

"No!" Her voice was remarkably forceful. "Here. Now. I've been waiting all bloody afternoon."

He chuckled at her impatience but managed at least to manoeuvre her into the sitting room.

Lucius kicked the door shut behind them. Hermione's hands came up immediately to remove his clothes. She was struggling, becoming increasingly frustrated. Her desire transmitted straight to him. He couldn't recall the last time he had wanted anything so much. His cock was swollen with painful desperation. Luckily, she had given up fumbling at his clothes, and with a quick wandless spell, they were both instantly naked.

She reached down with an exultant laugh and grabbed his cock hard. He sucked in with sudden sensitivity. There was nothing gentle in her movements. It didn't put him off.

"Fuck! I missed your cock. I sat here all afternoon dreaming of it, touching myself, thinking of you."

She brought her mouth to his ear and was pouring her needs desperately into it. His eyes closed as her hand gripped tight around his hardness. Images swam through his head of her, legs splayed, bringing herself pleasure. It was too much.

He grabbed her by the arms and seared her, first with his eyes, then his mouth, his lips claiming her desperately, his fingers digging into her pale flesh. When his mouth broke away to travel down her neck, she laughed with delight.

"Yes! Yes, Lucius. Take me, take me. I'm yours, only yours. Fuck me now. Claim me. I want you so much, so much. I want your beautiful cock inside me, filling me. Please, now, now!"

She pulled down from him and twisted round, kneeling before him, writhing her backside expectantly.

He wasn't used to taking her this way. Usually they kept eye-contact when he was inside her, needing the reassurance, the connection. For the first time, Lucius hesitated.

Hermione groaned in frustration and pushed back towards him. "Fuck! Don't make me wait any longer! Take me now! Take me. I'm yours, I'm yours."

All doubt was erased. He knelt behind her, and with only a moment's positioning, thrust hard and deep into her wet and supple body.

_Exquisite._

Pleasure immediately engulfed him, enhanced by the sound of guttural rapture torn by his initial plunge from the woman beneath him.

He stilled for a moment, gazing down at her. Hermione groaned, at that point seemingly transported beyond words. He pulled out a little, only a little, to see his cock, thick and rigid, reappear from within her, slick with her juices. It was almost too much to bear. Did he deserve this? He pulled out a little more, then slowly eased in, studying his movement, committing the sight to memory.

Hermione moaned again. "Fuck, Lucius! Harder, harder, faster. I want to feel you. I need to feel you."

He could only oblige. He would do as she wished. He picked up the pace, stroking hard and deep along her now, jolting against her cervix with every plunge and drawing a grunt of perfect satisfaction from her each time.

"Yes, yes, that's it. I need to feel it. I live for it. I live for your magnificent cock. Your beautiful pure cock." She began to groan, her words replaced only by sounds of sheer, almost inhuman pleasure.

Lucius had lost the ability to think. His world was focused solely on his cock encompassed in perfect beauty, into which he ploughed relentlessly, seeking his release, seeking hers. The woman beneath him pushed back against him a final time and froze. He didn't stop, and her pleasure was pulled from her hard and fast. Hermione screamed, a cry of unbridled rapture. Her body shook on him, her pussy clenching hard around him as her orgasm took her.

He could hold back no longer. Lucius pushed fully into her and came with an explosive roar of triumph, his seed shooting hot and deep. His head fell back and his eyes closed as he gave himself over to pleasure.

Hermione's knees slid from under her, and as her body sank to the floor her lover fell heavily on top of her, pressing her deep into the carpet. A laughing breath was pushed from her by his weight.

Neither spoke.

At length, he slipped out and rolled to the side.

"If that's the greeting I get if I go out for a few hours perhaps I should absent myself for a day or two."

She hit him playfully on the chest. "Don't you dare. Fuck, that was good, Lucius. You are so damn good."

"Keep talking," he smirked.

His hand came over to run along her belly, warm with sated desire. "You have considerable skills yourself ... to put it mildly. Not that I'm complaining, but you do seem particularly ... passionate at the moment. Is there a reason for it?"

She looked at him in confusion. Her brows were raised as she thought about it. "I don't know. There's no reason. I just want you."

"Well, you've got me," he smirked again.

She smiled back and reached in to kiss him. "How was your meeting?"

"Good. I put him right about a few things. Foolish man. He should know better than to question me."

She grinned. "I like it when you're assertive."

He raised his brows cynically. "I'm not very often these days. I grew tired of it."

"Please don't," she pouted.

"What?"

"Grow tired of it. It turns me on."

"I can tell,' he purred.

His hand was stroking along her breasts, running delicately, his eyes moving over their rise with an expression of awe. His fingers brushed a nipple lightly. She moaned again. He continued doing only that, watching as the nipple darkened and swelled before his eyes. For him, it was enough.

But soon he felt hands on his head. Hermione had reached up and was guiding him down, down to the point of need.

His tongue flicked out delicately at first and licked the dark areola then over the point. She moaned again. "More." It was barely audible.

He glanced up as she pushed him harder against her. His lips closed around the tight bud and he sucked it deep into his mouth. "Yes!" she hissed as he felt it harden yet more under his tongue. He flicked it this way and that. It was too delicious. Hermione arched up, propelling herself yet deeper into him. "Harder." Her demand was surprisingly forceful. He doubled his efforts and elicited a moan of pleasure from her.

Then he felt her fingers close on his wrist and pull his hand up to her other breast, guiding it to the nipple. He rubbed lightly. She moaned in protest. "Hard. Pinch me, pinch it, bite me. I want it."

Lucius' lust once again overrode reason. His fingers squeezed around the nipple and his teeth closed on the other. He knew it was hard. He knew it would hurt. His glazed eyes flicked up to see her reaction. Hermione let out a moan of sheer pleasured agony, her breath then released in a hiss as her body adjusted to the sensations. "Yes, yes. I love it, I love it." He maintained the pressure on her nipples, twisting, pinching, biting. She merely bucked harder into him, her face twisted in erotic bliss.

Should he question his actions? At that moment, he could not. She did not allow him to. It was clear she adored it. He glanced down. Her own hand was at her sex, rubbing hard over her clit. He didn't stop. Hermione's breathing was rapid and desperate. His mind was blinded by this exquisite creature and her need, her need for him. Lucius bit and twisted hard. She rubbed firmly over her clit again, and with a shuddering cry, came with a surging strength.

Only when her body had stilled did he release his hold on her nipples. Hermione sank down onto the floor, her hand coming up to stroke his head which he rested on her heaving chest. She sighed out with sated pleasure. Lucius glanced at her nipples. They were red and sore; she didn't seem to notice. As her pleasure passed and calm reason redescended upon him, a pang of guilt shot through Lucius.

It was Hermione who pulled herself from the floor, summoning her clothes once again.

She smiled down at him. "You're perfect. I'm going to see what Grimble's preparing. I told him to have dinner ready promptly at eight."

She turned and left him.

Lucius found himself frowning. Something was tingling in the back of his mind. But as the image of Hermione's face twisted in pleasured rapture flashed before his eyes, he dismissed it.

Eventually picking himself up, he sauntered towards the kitchen and met Hermione coming out the other way. "I'd like to eat in the dining room tonight." She spoke abruptly.

He was taken aback, unsure what to say. For her, he would eat anywhere, but they enjoyed their times in the kitchen so much that her sudden request took him entirely unawares.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes. It's about time we started to use other parts of the house. Come along. Show me where it is. Grimble knows to lay things up in there."

She strode past him along the corridor. He stared after her. The twinge in his mind returned.

Hermione came to a door. "Is it this one?" Without waiting for an answer she opened it. She had found the dining room first time, despite never seeing it before in her life.

She walked in, inhaling deeply. Lucius followed, keeping back from her slightly, observing.

"What a beautiful room." Hermione walked around, running her hands over the long oak table and the high-backed chairs. "It's ridiculous not to make use of it."

"We're happy in the kitchen, I thought. I like the intimacy of it. And I suppose using this room seemed unnecessary just for the two of us."

Hermione laughed aloud. "Just the two of us? You make us sound like a pair of impoverished Squibs! We're not just any two wizards, Lucius. We should allow ourselves a little comfort occasionally, a little luxury."

He sniffed out with a confused smile. "You declared lobster to be excessive yesterday."

Hermione ignored him and sat instead at the far end of the table.

"How do I look?" she beamed across to him.

"Beautiful." He could only speak the truth.

"Tell Grimble to hurry up and serve us in here. I'm hungry."

Lucius opened his mouth to speak but decided against it. He smiled a little before turning to do her bidding.

And so they ate in the dining room. Hermione's assertiveness seemed to have calmed and she conversed as smoothly and eloquently as ever. Her laughter punctuated the air every so often, a sound he delighted in. What did it matter if she wished to eat in the dining room? He would indulge her. It seemed to bring her great joy. She deserved great joy.

"It's Saturday tomorrow. Would you like to go somewhere?" He glanced across to gauge her reaction.

"Where did you have in mind?" She didn't raise her eyes to his.

"Wherever you wish. I should imagine our combined apparating powers could get us to Paris."

Hermione didn't respond but took another mouthful of food. Lucius felt a twinge of disappointment.

"Well?" He awaited her answer.

"Could do."

"_Could do?"_ He put down his fork, annoyance stirring within him. He didn't raise his voice to her but his grievance was clear. "Paris, Hermione. I thought you'd jump at the chance. No one will know us there. We can do anything you wish. It is one of the most beautiful cities in the world."

She sighed and at last looked up at him. "I know. I just ... I don't know ... I just want to be with you."

"You will be with me. We could go to the Louvre, to the Musee d'Orsay."

"Yeah, I suppose. I'll see how I feel in the morning."

Lucius' eyes hardened and he leaned into her. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes. What do you mean?"

"You've been different today."

"No, I haven't." She was defensive.

"Yes, you have, you've been in a foul mood." He crossed his arms in confused frustration. "I suggest something I haven't dreamed of doing for years, because I think I'd like it, I think you'd love it, it would be wonderful to go together, and you hardly react!"

She stared over at him, her face at last softening. "I'm sorry. I just ... I don't know ... I suppose I am in a funny mood. Maybe we will go to Paris. I just loved being with you today, you know ... _with_ you ... and we won't be able to do that in public."

"Hermione," he sighed across to her, speaking frankly, "you are incredible. What we did today was extraordinary, but it doesn't have to be like that every day. I don't think I could survive it!" He laughed. She didn't even break a smile. "See how you feel in the morning. But promise me you'll think about it."

She at last managed a small smirk. "I promise."

They finished supper. Lucius stood. "I think I'll have an early night, especially if we're going to apparate that far tomorrow."

Hermione looked up in surprise. "Are you going to sleep?"

"I thought I might. I confess to being a little ... worn out."

Her look of disappointment was obvious. He chuckled and pulled her into his arms. "If you come upstairs with me now, you might be able to convince me to put in one last appearance."

She smiled up at him, her hand already running inside his shirt. She leaned up to kiss him and pressed every inch of herself against his body. His groin jerked into action once again. How could it not?

With his last drops of energy, he swept her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom, past the Christmas tree. As he passed it, Lucius considered for the merest moment that he thought he'd made the star shine more brightly than it now was.

But once inside the bedroom, as she drew his pleasure out rapidly again, the niggle in his mind was pushed to the side.

She would be in a better mood the next day, he was sure.


	16. Chapter 16

**Lucius' brains seem to have headed south. Oh dear ... it's all a bit complicated and troubling. (PS - Sorry to miss an update yesterday. Busy busy.)**

* * *

Lucius woke before Hermione the next day. He stretched and turned to look at the woman beside him. She was still deep in sleep, her long eyelashes lying lush and soft along the delicate skin, her hair curling around her neck.

He had never seen such a beautiful sight. In all his days searching for truth, for the right path, he had never come across such sublime perfection.

He had forgotten her terse comments of yesterday.

He had not forgotten the pleasure her body had given him.

Reaching over, he slid down the cover hiding her body from him. Slowly, it was revealed, the velvet dips and inclines so exact, just as his mind would have willed them.

Hermione shuddered in her subconscious as the morning air caressed her skin. He smiled and placed his hand in the valley of her waist. He was rock hard already. He couldn't remember ever having had such constant sexual desire. Should he wake her? Her good humour may be restored today, but he hoped her lust was undiminished. It had been unexpected; he doubted it would be permanent, but he wished to take advantage of it while he could. Her vocal demands, her coarse language and her desperate need were something he had responded to with equal vigour, vigour that reminded him of whom he had been. As he stared down at her now, he wanted it again.

His hand began to press into her flesh, rubbing over her hip. She stirred, turning onto her back. His fingers crept down over the rise of her pubic bone where the soft curls of her hairs tickled him. He reached a long finger down, sliding it between the folds of flesh. The woman moaned a little and pressed against him. Even in sleep, she was needy. He continued to rub along the slit and felt it growing slicker and wetter with each pass.

"_Lucius_." He glanced up. Her eyes were still closed, but her body had awakened. She moaned long, stretching her limbs against the silks.

Lucius lowered his head to her breast, rising in its swell towards him, the nipple perched so dark on top. He sucked the ever-tightening bud deep into him, his fingers now working quickly, two pushed so far inside that it hurt his wrist.

His mind fogged, his cock groaned with need, all his life force centred around it, but still he needed to feel her, taste her, absorb her. His mouth pulled and tugged at the nipple. She moaned incessantly above him, her hands gripping his head, tangling so hard in his hair he hissed with pain. It didn't register with either of them. She pushed him ever harder against her. His teeth closed down on her nipple, his fingers rubbed hard over her clit. Hermione froze, her breath caught in the moment before she was torn apart. Then she shattered, a judder of sound tearing through her as she shook under him.

She stilled, slowly, her face breaking into the broadest smile.

Lucius glanced down at his cock, dripping relentlessly onto her hip, swollen and purple. He had to be inside her, but before he thought about sliding between her legs, the body beside him had moved, rising elegantly and fluidly. With a throbbing laugh, Hermione pushed him hard onto his back and swung her leg over him, placing herself just above his tip. She leaned over, pressing her nails into his smooth torso, scratching, and with a final look of anticipation, which he met with a twist of need, she lowered herself.

Lucius let out a sound of complete sensation. Every time he entered her, her tight wetness staggered him - like hot velvet. He held her hips, digging his fingers in as hard as she was flexing hers on his chest.

Hermione threw her head back and bit her lip.

"I missed you." She clamped around him, reinforcing his presence within her.

"You were asleep."

"I missed you. Even in my dreams, I missed you. I want you inside me constantly. I want to be joined to you always." She clamped hard around him; a shot of pleasure seared through him. He groaned aloud. She smiled and leaned over him again, pushing herself up his thick length slowly, surely, until he threatened to fall from her. She laughed before lowering herself just over the tip, then up again, almost out, then down, just that little bit, teasing the head of his cock with her pussy.

"Fuck!" he cried. She laughed again, not stopping her taunting pleasure.

Lucius mind flashed with urgency. He could stand no more.

With sudden violent brutality, he grabbed her hips hard and pulled her down fully onto him with a grunt of frustration. Hermione gasped in as his cock filled her with shocking completeness, yet her expression of surprise changed quickly into delight.

"Do that again." Her eyes closed and she felt his hands gripping her hard. He lifted her, before slamming her down onto his engorged hardness once again. It hurt her; it delighted her.

"Again."

He did.

And again. Hermione let herself be guided solely by him. He was so good at it. She looked down. He was staring at his cock as it impaled itself time and again in her body. His brows were furrowed, his lips curled up in an expression of violent concentration. A surge of pleasure, of power, ran through Hermione.

She reached down and captured his lips in her own, thrusting her tongue with brutal certainty into his mouth. He met it with violent force, twisting, twirling to absorb all she had. Still, her body slammed down time and again onto him.

She pulled back a little but held his stare. "So close, so close, Lucius. You're so fucking big inside me, know that. Don't stop, don't stop."

He didn't, but he had lost all ability to respond, apart from through the tightness gripping his balls.

She leaned blearily over him again, her breasts jolting up with each movement of their bodies. "I don't want to go to Paris. I want to stay here. I want to stay here and fuck you all day. I want you to fuck me all day."

She clamped hard around him. He hardly heard her words; he was about to explode.

"Anything, my darling. Anything. Harder. _Harder_." He groaned out, unable to take his eyes away from where they were joined.

She slammed down onto him one final time, clasping in tight around his cock. With a cry of abandon, he burst into her, carrying her with him. She threw her head back and released her orgasm with a groaning heave of air. The force of her clenching around his rigid member forced another surge of come from him, his pleasure tearing through him once more.

"Fuck! Fuck, witch!" His speech became incoherent with rapture.

As her climax died from her, Hermione hung her head back and laughed loud with delight.

Lucius' breathing slowed and she slumped over onto him.

His hand came up to grip her head, stroking her tangled hair. "My darling, thank you, thank you."

She smiled against him. "We are magnificent together. Do you feel it? Do you feel it when we come? The power, the triumph."

He didn't answer but still held her close.

Minutes ticked away. He didn't want to pull out despite softening within her. "I suppose at some point we should get up and do something. Are you sure you don't want to go to Paris?"

"Yes! I told you what I want. You want it too, you know it."

Her voice was hard-edged again as it had been the day before. Her mood had not improved. Something inside him twinged with disappointment.

"Well, let's go and have some breakfast."

Hermione huffed and rolled off him. He slipped out suddenly. He noticed the loss. She, despite her needs, did not seem to. "Oh God. I don't think I can face that bloody elf of yours. Why the hell you employ him is beyond me." She turned away from him.

Lucius stared down at her, trying to subdue the disbelief that had taken hold of him. "He has been here a long time and he serves me well, despite his attitude. I ignore it. And I thought you did too."

Hermione got off the bed with a further sigh. "Oh, it doesn't matter. Come on then. But just something quick. My cunt is already burning without you."

With that she rushed to wash and dress. Lucius remained staring after her. Her use of the word came as a complete shock to him. The niggle in his mind was back and stronger than ever. However, it was equalled by the constant throb in his groin. He shook his head and threw on his robes.

They remained in the kitchen for breakfast. Grimble was wary of Hermione. He eyed her suspiciously but was careful, for the first time, to serve her assiduously. She ate her food fast but caught the elf's stare out of the corner of her eye.

"Stop gawping at me, will you, Grimble!? For God's sake! Haven't you got anything better to do?"

Ermintrude jumped up on the table. The elf hissed at it and went to shoo it away.

"Don't touch her! She doesn't want your filthy hands all over her. What harm is she doing?"

"Hermione!" Lucius' smooth tones interjected. "It is not appropriate to have an animal on the table. Grimble was acting appropriately."

"Trust you to bloody defend him!"

She stood up and stormed out of the room.

Lucius glanced at his elf with a look approaching shame. Grimble sneered before turning back to his duties. The wizard went after Hermione.

He found her in the sitting room, her body tense, pacing the room. She hardly noticed when he entered.

"Hermione." He took a deep breath. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes. Why?"

"You seem rather on edge."

She grimaced but did not stop pacing.

"Stop. _Stop._ What are you doing?"

He came over to her and held her, forcibly preventing her frantic motion. She initially tried to shake him off but finally allowed herself to be held. He pulled her into him and stroked her hair.

"You've been so jumpy, so quick to temper. Is something troubling you?"

"No. I just don't like him hanging around. I want you all to myself."

"You do have me all to yourself."

He lifted her face to his, stroking it tenderly and bent to kiss her. At first, it was as pure and sweet as their first kisses, but it was Hermione who then deepened it, opening his mouth hard with her teeth, searching inside with her tongue.

Her body became liquid in his arms; a surge of erotic power seemed to shoot through it. Immediately, she pressed against him, her leg sliding sensuously up his, drawing him yet harder against her. He responded in the only way he could.

"Yes, yes, that's it, that's it, my darling. I can feel you, I can feel you. I want to taste you, I want to taste your seed. It is all the sustenance I need."

Her voice was deeper than he was used to and contained such heavy lust that his mind swam with desire. Her hands had slipped down and undone his buttons, releasing his trousers to fall from him. He kicked them aside.

She brought her mouth to his ear. "You are beautiful, exquisite, pure. Tell me what you want me to do. I am yours. You must tell me. Do what you want. Do what you want with me. I deserve it."

He didn't fully process her words; his aching balls dominated his conscience. With a moan, he brought his hands to her shoulders and pushed her down. Her body slid away from him and he inhaled with anticipation.

She was kneeling before him, his cock swaying before her. But she turned her eyes up to his and spoke once again. "Tell me. Tell me." Her tongue flitted out, so close, but she held back.

"I want you to take me in your mouth. Take me deep, as deep as you can. Tongue, lips." He could barely form the words.

"Yes ... yes ..." She opened and slowly enclosed her mouth around him, pulling just the head hard against her cheeks as her tongue swirled and tasted it. He released a groan of pleasure.

She started to move gently at first, her tongue doing most of the work. He gazed down in rapt concentration, his breathing heavy. She was completely absorbed in her task, seemingly relishing what she was doing. He couldn't help reaching down and holding her, guiding her along him with increasing passion.

She sank deeper onto him, gagging a little as he hit her throat. He pulled back, not wanting to hurt her.

"No! More! I want it, I want it. I need to feel you. You need to." She immediately plunged down again. He couldn't argue and pushed her head against him, feeling himself this time sink into her throat with ease. He moaned out with the sheer overwhelming sensation.

Hermione pulled back with a gasp. She laughed in pleasure, looking up at him. "Do you know what that feels like? Do you know what it's like to have your perfect pureblood cock fucking my filthy little Mudblood mouth?"

Lucius tensed. But before his mind allowed him to question what was happening she had sucked him deeper than ever into her again, her tongue teasing him, her lips stroking him, her throat tightening on him. His body was strong and rigid, his muscles girding themselves for the release. He felt triumphant. It reminded him of a time long ago. A time he thought had vanished. Her tongue slid around him. He pushed deeper yet into her. He could tell she was struggling to take him all. At that moment, he didn't care. He held her head hard against him. Her eyes were watering but his cock was on fire. He pulled back, letting her scrape her delicious lips over him again.

Hermione gasped in air but in the same breath let out a laugh of sheer delight. "Yes, my magnificent pureblood. Do it. Come into me. I want to taste you now. Cleanse me, cleanse me with your seed."

Unthinkingly, he thrust back into her, forcing himself deep down her again. And again and again, brutally, all sense banished, only pleasure and power guiding him. And then he came, explosively, shooting out thick long bursts which hit the back of her throat. His head fell back as power gripped every fibre of his being, a cry of explosive rapture resounding off the walls.

Only after his pleasure had faded completely did he pull out and look down. She was panting heavily, coughing sporadically, her eyes red and wet, her lips puffy and swollen, her face streaked with white.

Lucius staggered and sank to his knees, sudden and overwhelming shame sweeping through him. He closed his eyes, unable to look at her.

Hermione crawled towards him and nestled, curling up in his lap.

"I'm sorry. My darling, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me." He was holding his head in his hands, unable to bear the memory of what he had just done, a sob of remorse caught in his throat.

The woman coiled into him merely laughed. "Never be sorry. You did what was necessary. What we both wanted and needed. Did you feel the power? Your power?"

He was confused. Why was she talking like this? But he nodded anyway. He had undeniably felt it.

"You and I ... we are magnificent ... we are magnificent together. You will purge me, you will cleanse me ... pureblood and Mudblood; together, we will be triumphant."

He looked down at her, frowning. "You don't need to say those things. Why are you saying that?"

"It is the truth."

He closed his eyes again, trying to ignore her words, putting them down to erotic need and fervour. But the pleasure his body was experiencing - he did not think he had the strength to let go of it.

Slowly, he manoeuvred her away from him and stood to get a drink.

Not since his time in Azkaban had Lucius Malfoy been so troubled.

* * *

The next few days proceeded in a similar way. Hermione's mood did not improve. She snapped at Grimble and at Lucius. She did no work. Her sexual need grew beyond anything he could have anticipated.

Lucius' mind kept whispering to him, telling him that something was wrong, something beyond their control. And, as is so often the case with men when threatened with a shift in what has become welcome and familiar, he chose to ignore it.

He hoped it would sort itself out, hoped it was a hormonal imbalance which would lessen over time. It did not lessen, neither did he find himself in a position to do anything about it.

Her body, her desires, her sheer erotic force pursued him relentlessly, and he found himself unable and unwilling to resist. They spent nearly all day shut in the bedroom. But the pleasure they brought from each other transcended anything he thought possible. It was too good to deny.

But not only was she changing emotionally and sexually, physically she was altering. Hermione was not eating. Each time he held her slender frame in his hands, she seemed thinner and harder.

His mind was tormented. The only times it eased was when he entered her, when all reason shifted to the apex of his groin. It was only then that he felt safe, comfortable. When they came together, as they normally did, all desolation, all anxiety was swept away. It was not something he dared let go of.

But as he looked across at her at breakfast one day, three weeks after her first mood swing, he saw the light, that bright light she had brought back to him, fading from her eyes. She was unrecognisable as the woman who had first entered his house. His heart panged; his soul wailed. This was wrong.

He missed her.

Suddenly and helplessly, he missed her desperately. And at that moment, he wanted her back.

"I am going to take you to Bath today."

She looked up, her face sallow and pale. "Are you?" She sounded utterly disinterested.

"Yes."

Hermione sighed. "I don't really feel like it."

"Why not?"

"I haven't got much energy."

It was true. The only times she seemed to be imbued with any strength these days was when she was engaged in sex.

"I will look after you. We don't have to do much, but I think you need to get out of the house."

"Oh bloody hell, do we have to?"

He was used to her temper now. He ignored it.

"Yes, we do have to. I am going. And if you want to be with me, you will simply have to accompany me."

Hermione huffed and threw her spoon into her bowl of cereal with a loud clatter. "Haven't got much choice then, do I?"

"No," he drawled before standing and leaving her. "I'll see you in the hall in five minutes."

Lucius was almost surprised when Hermione appeared on time, dressed in Muggle jeans, top and coat. Her face was still pale, but she still held herself with the effortless grace of a woman of remarkable beauty and intelligence. He crossed to her and kissed her delicately on the lips. He should have known better. Immediately, her arms came around him, her strength grew, and she pressed herself against him, one hand reaching down to his groin.

He pulled back sharply. "No. Not now."

Hermione glared but took his arm. With a twist of his wand they disappeared with a pop from Malfoy Manor.

They arrived in a side street in Bath. Lucius drew himself up with satisfaction. As usual, he had managed to Apparate them to a discreet location, far from Muggle eyes. He turned to give Hermione a smirk. She was staring dejectedly ahead of her, utterly unimpressed by his smooth magic. His heart sank once again, but he was determined to make her happy, to try to draw some of her life force back out of her.

"Come along. We'll go to the Pump Room first. This place is so redolent of Jane Austen's time. You can feel the characters in her novels here - it's as if you will turn a corner and bump into Elizabeth Bennett." He was trying so hard.

"No part of Pride and Prejudice was set in Bath." She spoke with factual disinterest.

Every time she stabbed him. He sniffed deeply and guided her along the road.

They walked slowly through the Pump Room, Hermione keeping her arms folded close around her at all times. Lucius tried vainly to engage her in conversation but failed at every turn.

They moved onto the Roman Baths. Even Lucius was impressed by the ancient Muggle ingenuity on show. It was a remarkable feat of engineering and art and all 2,000 years old. His eyes danced as he looked out over the large bath, steam still rising, at it had always done, from the naturally hot water.

"Extraordinary, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "I came here on a school trip once."

"From Hogwarts?"

"No." She glared at him witheringly. "Primary school. You don't think I could have learnt anything from this once I was at Hogwarts, do you?"

He led her to the more remote parts of the bath complex. It was dark and gloomy in places but still full of fascinating exhibits. Lucius was more interested than he would let on. Hermione was not.

He looked back at her. Her eyes were trained on him for the first time all day, staring fixedly at his body. He knew what it meant. For once, he chose to ignore it.

He was leaning over, studying the plaque detailing the Roman occupation of the city. He felt a hand on his buttock. It began to rub slowly and sensually. He breathed in deep and drew himself up, turning to her. She was smirking up at him.

"Not here."

"Yes here."

"There's nowhere to go."

"Oh, Lucius, you know better than that; where there's a will, there's a way." She took his hand and led him over a rope barrier into a tunnel forged out of the rock, clearly marked private. He tried to resist but knew with her there was no choice.

She turned one corner so that they were just out of sight of any passers-by and immediately ripped at his clothes with frantic desperation. She soon gave up on his shirt and moved down to his trousers, quickly releasing his already hardening cock.

She laughed aloud. "You see? I know you better than you know yourself."

His mind had already fogged over. All his good intentions, all his hopes for the day had once again been reduced to the throbbing in his groin and the power rushing quickly through his limbs. He tore at her jeans, pulling them roughly down her legs. She kicked off her shoes and let the jeans fall from her legs. She no longer wore underwear.

"Open for me, open for me, witch."

If Lucius was disappointed in himself, he had forgotten. He could smell her pussy, wanted to be inside it, wanted to be nowhere else.

She raised herself up, drew one leg around him and felt him place himself desperately at her opening. Then, locking eyes with him, she pushed down as he thrust up. Her back scraped against the rough stone wall and she was impaled on him.

"Fuck, yes!" she hissed. "Why did you make me wait so fucking long?"

He could only groan in response as once again his cock was gripped exquisitely by her perfect heat.

"Move, you bastard, move now." Her voice was deep, urging him on. He obliged, powering in and out of her, pushing her hard against the rock wall.

Their pleasure built quickly and mutually. They both felt it, the power, the surge through them as their bodies worked together. He held her chin, turning it to look at him.

"That's it, that's it, Lucius. You remember, don't you? You remember what it felt like? Power, glory. It felt like this, it felt like this."

He grunted in acknowledgement, not slowing his strokes. Her voice was different; he hardly recognised it as hers. He didn't care. Her pussy was the same.

"You can have it again - you can be what you have to be. With me. Only with me. Pureblood and Mudblood. Malfoy and Granger. Think of our magic, Lucius, more powerful than anyone's. Think of what we can achieve together."

Still he fucked her, his cock pistoning in and out of her in brutal strokes. He couldn't stop.

"Think of how you feel when we come, when we come together. We are mighty, we are magnificent. Think of what's out there - all that - ours for the taking ..." She indicated down the corridor, down to the Muggle world, where voices could be heard among the ancient rocks. "It can be ours, Lucius, ours, all ours. Think of it, think of it when you come, when you feel my cunt gripping you."

He stared hard at her, his face twisting as pleasure took its inexorable hold on him.

He had never felt so powerful, so alive. She was right. With her, with this beautiful, incredible witch, he could achieve anything, _anything._

Her body held him tight. She leaned into him and took his lower lip in her teeth, biting down on it until it bled.

He came suddenly and forcefully and with his pleasure came hers. He pinned her up around his cock while he burst into her, her body juddering against him. Their cries echoed around the small tunnel. They must have been heard.

Afterwards, Hermione and Lucius could do no more than slump onto the cold floor.

She looked across at him, smiling blearily. When she smiled, he clung onto the thoughts that had held him captive while inside her.

But as her smile faded, and her eyes left his, he was consumed with the profoundest desolation.

* * *

**Uh oh.**


	17. Chapter 17

And so it continued.

Every day, Lucius hoped she would shift from her stupor and revert to the woman who had brought such brilliance into his life.

_She would come through._

He had, had he not? He had come through horror, through Azkaban.

But his blinkered hopes were in vain.

She was now persistently withdrawn and rude.

Lucius was not immune from her acerbic tongue. She would snap at the slightest thing, finding fault in his precision, his occasional need for solitude, hounding him if he did not humour her sexual needs instantly. He invariably did, but even he was finding her relentless demands tiring. He missed the days when they would sit together and read in companionable silence.

But it was the things she said during sex which troubled him most. At first, he had put it down to her ardour, to her libido pushing reason from her mind. He knew that feeling all too well. If he didn't, he himself would have the ability to resist her pull.

The time in Bath had made it all too clear to him.

She had spoken of his pureblood superiority in no uncertain terms, degrading herself as a Muggle-born before him, inciting him to grasp the power he felt when with her, power he could not deny.

At those times, as profound pleasure tore through him, almost pulling him out of his body, granting him strength beyond imagining, he believed her, he adored all she said.

Only when the pleasure had subsided, and the light had once again faded from her eyes, did the cold reality of their situation crash down upon him.

Something was working upon her. An external force. A force of darkness.

Hermione was under a curse.

He had known in his heart for a while. He had chosen to ignore it.

He knew also that it would only get worse.

And now? Should he mention his fears to her, try to administer counter-curses?

He hesitated, shamed perhaps that he should have already done more.

As he sat in the dark of night, staring at her asleep before him, sleep which now came to her amidst troubled fits and starts, her bony elbow protruding from the covers, he knew why he had not.

This woman had stirred in him things he was afraid to let go of. Despite the agony of her temper, the witnessing of her life-force waning, still he remembered the ecstasy she wrought in him every time he was inside her. At those times he was once again given a glimpse of all that could have been.

_All that yet could be?_

He shut his eyes tight.

He saw behind his eyelids the image of her rushing down his stairs in those early days, her face flushed after working hard, her eyes alight with her new discoveries: light which dispelled the gloom of his house, the gloom of his soul. Dancing eyes.

Her eyes no longer danced. They were empty and lifeless.

Except when she was impaled on him, and then they were fierce, burning, searing him in their intensity. The brilliance of those moments banished all others. They were together at those moments, together with more vibrancy than he ever imagined.

_No._ He shook his head hard.

He knew those times were in reality a deceit, a mask, a ruse to lure him into a false sense of empowerment. The woman who held his body captive so easily was not her. It couldn't be.

Lucius sighed hard.

Did he have the strength? The everyday strength to do what was right?

_Right? When had he ever done what was right?_

Right for him? Right for her?

Another complication presented itself. He was terrified of losing her. He didn't want to alienate her or push her away.

_But this was not her._

He moved beside her on the bed and looked down. In sleep she was as beautiful as the first day she had come to the Manor. He bent down and inhaled the scent of her hair. She smelt the same as she had then.

He loved her smell.

Lucius sat back up. His hands instinctively pulled the cover back and gazed at her naked form underneath. She turned in her sleep, her leg bending to the side, placing her in a position of complete sensual delight. His face twitched. She was asleep, but her hand came down, moved between her legs, resting just above her perfect little bud of expectant flesh, flesh he knew so well. She sighed out. Even in sleep the darkness was working in her. His cock twitched, he knew it. He wanted her again, even now.

_He wanted her._

Lucius stood quickly and left the room.

* * *

Time passed. Hermione's condition did not improve.

In the weakness of denial Lucius still hoped vainly, desperately, that she would recover without intervention on his part, without him having to confront the pain of reality, the darkness of his own past.

He tried. As she slept, he attempted the occasional counter-curse or healing charm. Nothing helped. He knew it would not. The evil which was poisoning her body and soul was so dark and consuming that nothing except the deepest and purest magic would purge it.

_And yet ..._

Could they not survive as they were? Those moments between them were beyond imagining. She herself said ... _together they were magnificent._

_What if ...?_

As he sat at the kitchen table one morning, contemplating the situation, Lucius slammed his fist down with violent torment.

"Everything alright, master?" Grimble inquired snidely.

"No, it is not, Grimble."

Hermione slouched in, slumping into the chair opposite, her head in her hands.

"Coffee, Grimble. Where the fuck is it?"

Lucius eyed her. "You should eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

The elf placed a steaming cup before her. She took a sip from it. Her face contorted in disgust.

"What the hell is this filth?"

Lucius continued to study her.

Grimble mumbled morosely, "It is a different variety of bean. We had run out of the other. I have been told this one is similar but of a higher quality."

"Pathetic creature. Can't you get anything right?"

"Master Lucius approved it himself. He had some this morning."

Hermione stood, her fists clenched, resting on the table and leaning over to Grimble.

"I am not Lucius, elf!" Her voice was deep again, as Lucius had heard it at her times of arousal. "Do not presume to tell me what I should or should not be drinking. If I want something, you should fucking well have it ready for me."

Grimble stood his ground and sneered up at her. "You are not my mistress. I take orders only from Master Lucius."

Hermione's face twisted beyond recognition. She grasped the coffee cup in her hand and flung the scalding contents over the elf. Grimble staggered back in horror. Luckily, the liquid did not hit his face but scorched his arm and soaked into his clothing. He fell back with a hiss of pain.

Lucius rushed to him, quickly muttering a healing and cleansing charm. Then he turned to Hermione. She had gone.

"I'm sorry, Grimble. Miss Granger is not herself." Standing quickly, Lucius rushed from the room after her.

"Hermione!" He could hear her footsteps disappearing up the stairs. Rushing along, he caught up with her at the top of the landing. "Hermione! Stop!"

She did not heed him. He rushed up and grabbed her arm, pulling her round to him.

"What? I thought you were ministering to that fucking little twat you call a house-elf." She tried to pull her arm away. He held her fast.

"Hermione, you have to listen to me." He tried to meet her eye. "Look at me. You must look at me. Something has happened to you. You've changed so much, _so much_."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Her face was distorted with anger.

"No. It has gone too far. You're behaving irrationally."

"Lucius, shut up. You're talking nonsense. I've just been a bit tired."

"No. It's not just your temper."

"What are you going on about?" Her words were as icy as her stare.

"Well ... your ardour, sexually... it was always good, but now ... you're insatiable."

She smirked. "You like that."

She had switched instantly from heated temper to lustful need. He swayed back, desperate for once to resist.

"Don't," he mumbled. "That incident with Grimble. That's not you. You're so forceful now, so violent. It is terrifying."

"Terrifying? You can be terrifying too, Lucius. I remember you. I remember when I was younger." Her voice had switched to low and tempting.

He closed his eyes against it. "You were never terrified of me."

"No - I was in awe of you. Even then ... _Lucius Malfoy_." She whispered his name while pressing herself up against him and drawing her hands with idle sensuality up his torso. With every ounce of willpower left in him, he moved away from her.

"Hermione." He fixed her with the cool grey of his eyes. "I think you've been cursed."

She stared at him open-mouthed, her lips curling into a cynical sneer. "Then you are more of a fool than I realised."

"I don't expect you to acknowledge it or recognise it, but it is obvious to me now. I have ignored it for too long."

She stepped in again, waving his words away dismissively. "Don't talk any more. It's boring me. Come, let's go back to bed. I can tell you're sad." Her voice had taken on a pathetic saccharine quality, but then morphed into her low throb of sexual need. "I can make you feel better. I always make you feel better, don't I, Lucius? Make you feel wonderful, magnificent. Because you are magnificent, you know that, don't you?" By now, she had shifted to her full powers of seduction - powers he found impossible to resist.

But still he stood his ground, despite the hardness pressing against his trousers.

_He must do the right thing._

She moved into him again and whispered up to his ear, "I promise I'll be a good girl. Nothing too violent. Nothing too demanding. But you know you want me. And I want you. I want you so, _so_ much."

Almost without him realising it, she had taken his hand and moved it between her legs, and he found himself stroking her wetness with his usual expert skill. "Yes ... _yes,"_ she moaned, her eyes closing in pleasure. "That's right, my darling. That feels so good, so right. You are so good. Come now, come. You must take me how you want. You make me feel so glorious. I'll do the same for you."

She took his hand and turned towards the bedroom. Lucius Malfoy allowed himself once again to be led by her, into her.

* * *

More days passed. Lucius seemed unable to do anything to stop the slow deterioration of Hermione.

His mind searched for answers. He tried the occasional spell, even slipping a potion into her tea.

Hermione stayed mainly in the bedroom. Grimble had recovered from the coffee incident and, under Lucius' instruction only, still served her, but she remained largely out of his sight.

One Tuesday, only three weeks before Christmas, Lucius went to ask her to lunch, hoping she would join him. He opened the door to the bedroom but didn't find her there.

He was unsure what to think. Part of him was relieved she had got up, part of him was fearful of where she had gone. He paced the corridor, calling for her. Not a sound. His feet carried him to the library in the optimistic hope that she'd decided to do some work. He knew in his heart how unlikely this was; she hadn't worked for days.

But still, as he turned the handle, his heart leapt at the prospect of finding her familiar form working happily at the desk. He opened the door. The room was empty, silent. A pall of disappointment fell over him. He crossed to the desk. Had she at least been here earlier? But the desk was nearly bare with no sign of any recent activity.

He turned to leave, but then his eyes fell on a large book placed on the side of the desk.

He stopped, staring at it. Something hitched inside him. Its pages, even when shut, seemed to be shimmering, glowing. He reached over and pulled the cover open. His eyes narrowed as blinding light shone out at him.

_The Book of Desire_.

Lucius reeled.

They had made love here, over the book.

_The book._

It had been that day. Her mood had changed - from then - that first time in here. She had been different even then: her language, her needs.

He stared down at the pages of the book, narrowing his eyes against the glare. Its magic leapt out at him, as if daring him to acknowledge what was now clear. He placed a hand on the page. A surge of power travelled rapidly up his arm and into his soul. He could not prevent a laugh of triumph breaking out as the force of his magic rushed through him, stronger than ever.

Reality at last crashed down.

He pulled his hand back as if scorched, deadening the laugh in his throat.

It all fell into place.

Lucius' eyes closed with dreaded realisation.

The book.

It had been in his family for years. He had been told it was a book of beauty, of love, as indeed it was. But his was a pureblood family. For generations, if the book had been used at all, it had been used only between pureblood mates.

Hermione was Muggle-born. A union had taken place through the book of a Muggle-born and a pureblood.

Lucius suspected instantly this was what had put the curse in motion. What else could it have been? Immediately, when he thought back, there had been a change.

He swore violently and loudly into the room. How could he have been so stupid? Hermione had been trawling through his library in search of dark, dangerous texts, and he had allowed one to act its evil upon her right before his eyes, unknown.

He slammed his fist against the shelves, causing several volumes to come tumbling down upon him. With a violent, frustrated wave of his wand, he sent them back, a roar of angry fury rising out of him.

And now? He had the answer to how she had been cursed, but no solution to how to cure her.

And cure her he must.

She was fading before him ...

She was all he had.

Picking up the book, he strode from the room. He swept down the stairs as he heard footsteps in the downstairs corridor. His heart swelled as he recognised her sounds, her smell, but swiftly he rushed into the sitting room, placing the book in a drawer which he locked carefully with a charm. She opened the door just as he stepped away.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." He stepped towards her. He was struck by how gaunt her face looked, how sunken her eyes were. "Where have you been?"

"I was looking in Draco's room." She spoke quite factually but stared hard at him to gauge his reaction.

Lucius knew she was taunting him, knew that it was not her speaking. As much as it irked him to know she had been in his son's private chamber, a place he himself never went, he strove not to show any grievance. "Oh?"

"Yes. He has lots of interesting things. In one drawer I found a stash of pornography. Quite exotic too. Your son has interesting tastes."

"Fascinating."

"I wonder if he's as good in bed as you."

Lucius tensed, his body rigid. She was looking steadily at him with a faint smirk on her face.

"I wouldn't know," he drawled before turning from her. "Lunch is on the table." She didn't see his eyes close in agony as he walked away.

Over the next few days, at every opportunity, Lucius would shut himself in the library, pouring over the texts Hermione should herself have still been documenting. Slowly, he started to piece together what the curse could be. Unless he found out specifically what evil had been cast upon the book and subsequently taken hold of Hermione, he was powerless to help her.

_Powerless._ He had never felt it so profoundly in all his life.

Yet, ironically, these were also the times when he felt most empowered.

Even through his days of research the pleasure went on. He could do nothing to stop it. Her sexual hold on him was complete. Despite looking fragile, deep rings set under her eyes, she never tired of his body, sought him out, craved him. And at those times, he reverted back to who he had been, he caught glimpses of the power he had wielded at those times in his life he thought he had banished forever, had tried so hard to banish forever. She knew it. She goaded him. She encouraged him to taste it again.

He ploughed into her; he never tired of it. He used her body as she bid him: her pussy, her mouth, her arse; even that tender place she had offered to him, and he had taken. She demanded it, and he gave what she wanted. Pleasure so extreme worked its way through him that it blotted out the agony and hopelessness that he knew awaited him on the other side. The irony of it tormented him, that the only thing able to provide him with any comfort was also the thing responsible for all his pain and misery.

He used her more than ever, poured himself into her, could not think of living outside her. And she opened for him, she welcomed him. He could tell he left her sore, hurt, but the pain never seemed to register with her. She would simply turn and offer more. Always more.

And when they were not joined, he tried to eradicate the terror which gripped him by throwing himself into finding a solution. Hermione remained permanently in the bedroom now, fading away, slipping almost into unconsciousness when he wasn't around. But when he came to her, she would awaken with sudden and remarkable vitality, and for those moments, he could forget she was ill, forget she was cursed.

Lucius discovered through his extensive research that the curse was most likely one designed specifically for the book, to protect its pureblood users and its sanctity. He concluded that it was a form of Purification Curse. This was a term used only by purebloods. In non-pureblood texts, it was known as the Soul-Eating Curse.

Purification curses were aimed at non-pure witches and wizards who were likely to come into contact with purebloods. They were designed to punish the half-blood or Muggle-born while also attempting to 'purify' them This purification happened in two ways, first by destroying their soul, eating away at it, and also by tying them inextricably to the pureblood they had dared connect with, rendering them no more than a pawn through which to glorify that person. The pureblood who had come into contact with the Halfblood or Muggle-born would in turn become, through their deterioration, more powerful.

The connection, however warped, between the pureblood and the non-pureblood would be exacted through the original source of their coming together; in Hermione's case, through her sexuality.

And in addition, as the soul was destroyed, the witch or wizard would occasionally feel invincible, but only in order to impart strength indirectly to the pureblood. Lucius felt it - the curse was working through her into him as well.

Lucius could find no reference to a Purification curse being used specifically on his Book of Desire, but the book was hundreds of years old. The curse would have been placed on it when it made.

And still Lucius read on. He had hoped that simply by destroying the book the curse would be removed.

No.

As he researched further, he became more and more despairing at what he found. Many texts purported that purification curses were irreversible and unstoppable. They continued to eat away relentlessly at the person's soul until there was nothing left of them.

It was clear.

If Lucius did not do something to remove the curse, Hermione would die.


	18. Chapter 18

**This is a tough chapter. Be warned. Don't worry though, nobody dies. I can at least promise you that.**

* * *

Lucius continued his research.

When not in the library, his time was spent caring for her as best he could, although she refused most food and drink. He remained calm and rational, trying his best to speak tenderly and evenly, trying to maintain an air of normality.

He found himself more able to resist her sexual needs. When he came near her, her body invariably responded with a renewed strength. If he walked away she would instantly turn vile, anger twisting her still beautiful face, and would hurl insults and torments at him.

Lucius did not show his anguish but would turn rapidly away and retreat to the library. Hermione would fall silent almost immediately, slumping back into her semi-delirium.

It was late one Wednesday, days before Christmas. Lucius had been working all day, pouring over texts and manuscripts. He was despairing. Since he had denied her his body, he had not had the glimpses of her former vitality, the brilliance which they could share together.

He was desolate, surrounded by piles of books and parchment, all read in the wasted hope of finding a solution. Everything had proved futile. He had almost given up.

In the desperate hours of early morning, as his last candle shivered before him, he decided to look through one last parchment, an age-old document, requiring all his skill in reading ancient magic script.

And there it was.

_'To Cure the Darke Torment Wrought by the Purification Curse'_

He stared at the words before him. They stared back at him, so obvious.

Lucius exhaled a laugh of delight, a surge of enraptured power coursing through him for the first time in days.

He read.

But the hope that had built in him so rapidly soon faded.

The cure required almost as much pain and suffering as the curse itself.

Still, he forced his mind to reread, process the information presented to him. As he read it again, he transcribed a simplification of the ancient text.

-x-x-x-

_"Thou shalt bring two of pure heart and soul, two who bear no malice, no malcontent towards the bearer of the curse, two who bear nothing but love for the cursed one._

_From these two shall be gleaned blood, blood reflecting the love of the soul. It shall be gathered in unison, the two giving their blood after avowing their intent and affirming their love for the cursed one. For such, the following words shall be used: 'I hereby swear my love for the witch or wizard, (thou shalt herewith recite the name of the cursed one). I avow to heal and cleanse him (or her) through my blood, my soul and my love. If it fails, I will forfeit my life.'_

_A potion shall be concocted, the elements as follows: asphodel, the yolk of one dragon egg, fluxweed, graphorn spleen, hellebore, moonstone, crushed scarab beetles, blood extracted from the two cleansers, blood from the cursed one (which shall be added at a later stage). All ingredients, save the cursed one's blood, shall then be combined in a silver cauldron, using silver tools over the heat of a willow fire._

_The following incantation shall be recited by the cleansers, who must be united in purpose and spirit: _

_Amoria flammare con spiritus uniquios_

_Lavare corporea, lavare spirito_

_Lavare spiritus con amoria flammare_

_Lavare iniquitatem_

_Spiritus completo par amoria eternum_

_Thereafter shall the blood of the cursed one be combined into the potion. _

_The incantation shall be read again. The cursed one must then consume the potion fully. _

_All being well, the remnants of the cursed one's soul will thus join with those of the two cleansers. It shall be restored through their giving of themselves. For the fulfilment of the purging of the curse, they shall feel pain and agony: their own darkness revealed. Their own souls shall be absorbed into the cursed one, restoring it, and, if all is well, he or she shall be healed, and the cleansers' souls restored intact._

_Beware, if the two cleansers are not certain of their purest love for the cursed one, death will result for all, the souls being fragmented irreparably."_

-x-x-x-

Lucius stared ahead of him, completely empty.

This was the only way.

_Love._

Did he love her?

He closed his eyes. How could he not admit it now? It had been so obvious for so long.

_Yes, he loved her. He loved Hermione._

He loved who she was, who she had been, who she could be again.

Was he willing to sacrifice himself to bring her back?

He was. The answer was unequivocal.

But the parchment specifically required two: two who loved her. He did not suppose it needed to be love such as he felt, as a lover. He supposed the love of a friend or a family member would be just as strong.

Who? Who in addition to him would be willing to risk everything for Hermione?

Her parents did not even remember her. She had no brothers and sisters that he knew of.

Weasley had moved on. He doubted he retained affection deep enough for her any longer.

There was one. One only.

One person he had hoped never to see again.

* * *

Lucius had given up sleeping in the same bed as Hermione. He knew, even amidst the anguish of their fractured lives, that he could not resist her body when the strength surged through her with pure erotic force. But every day, every night, he would check on her, ensure she was safe.

He entered her room the day of discovering the cure, more unsettled than ever before. She appeared to be asleep. He crept over and looked down at her.

Despite her weight loss, the tight skin stretched over her cheekbones, she was to him still beautiful. He stared. In sleep, he could remember her as she had been. He recalled the first time he had seen her sleeping in the chair downstairs, how he had wanted to reach out to her, to touch her.

An overwhelming and exacting oppression consumed him. He had betrayed her. He was killing her.

Lucius slumped down on the bed beside her, a dreadful sob rising from him into the stillness of the room.

Something stirred next to him.

"Lucius? Is that you?"

He looked around in surprise. Her voice sounded, for that moment, frail but normal.

"Yes."

"Where have you been? I'm so alone. You have left me so alone." She was like a little girl lost in vast darkness. His heart was stabbed with agony.

"You are not alone."

She reached over, her thin fingers stretching out to him. He looked down. He must not touch her.

_He wanted to touch her._

"Don't leave me. I need you." She had never sounded so vulnerable, so much in genuine need.

His hand moved towards her and she circled her fingers around it.

Immediately, Lucius felt strength rushing into her. He closed his eyes and tried weakly to pull away. He could not; she held him tight. The woman sat up with sudden vigour.

"Lucius." Still, however, her voice was normal. Perhaps he could hope. He turned to look into her eyes.

She smiled at him. He could read no malice, no deceit in the smile. Her hand came up and lightly caressed his cheek. He exhaled with the simple touch of her: a touch he had longed for, had missed so much.

"My darling, my sweet. You have come back to me ... thank you for coming back to me ..." She was kneeling before him and leaned in, planting a tender kiss on his cheek.

He was lost.

Her hands encircled his neck, turning his head to kiss his lips. Still it seemed tender, loving, as it was that first time. He moved his lips under hers. Her hands were on his shoulders, running along the broad muscles, her fingers drawing a line over them. He felt the stirring in his groin once more.

She deepened her kiss, her tongue questing slowly into his mouth, circling it with the sensuality he had recently only been able to recall. Here it was again, in his arms.

He responded, his body responded, his cock responded.

Lucius' hands came up to hold her head, angling it to thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. He wanted to remember her taste, her feel. _How had he thought he could survive without it?_ The woman groaned loud, her hand dropping to release his already hard member. He helped her remove his clothes swiftly and drew her own thin cami up and over her head.

"Yes, yes, my darling. I have longed for you, I have missed you so." Hermione fell back onto the bed, her back arching up. Her words were not coarse or brutal. If she was manipulating him he was unaware, or choosing to ignore it. This felt normal, this felt as beautiful as ever. He was powerless to stop.

She writhed beneath him, reaching beyond her and gripping the bedstead hard. Her body was his, open for him. He felt himself as hard as ever, ready to plunge into her perfect pussy once again.

Lucius glanced up. Her hands were gripping the bedstead so tight her knuckles were white.

His cock swelled yet more.

"Tie me."

Had he heard right?

"Tie me." The voice sounded again, more insistent, deeper. He looked at her. Her face was suddenly desperate and determined.

His heart panged. He frowned and hesitated. He had experimented with all manner of sexual practices in his life, but with Hermione neither of them had ever had the need for this, not even under the curse. He gazed down at her.

"You heard me. Do it. I need you to. Tie me hard. Bind me."

He knew he could only do as she said. He thought only of pleasure, of the energy coursing fast through his limbs to his cock. All hesitation vanished.

Lucius summoned a length of leather and, quickly grabbing her wrists, bound them tightly within it, then reached to wrap it round the bedpost.

"Tighter, harder. I want to feel it hurt. Punish me."

He was beyond questioning her. He knew the reason she was like this, knew the significance of it, but the pleasure and the power which gripped him overrode it all.

He gripped the leather strap and pulled, watching as the hard edge dug into her soft flesh. She gasped in with pain, but her eyes immediately closed as sensation surged through her.

"Yes, yes, that's it, more, more."

He pulled it yet tighter. He could see her hands darkening before his eyes. He did not loosen it.

Hermione arched up, her breasts rising, seeking him out. He plunged his mouth down to them, his hands gripping the pliant flesh hard, pushing the nipple up to his waiting lips, his urgent tongue. He laved hard over the tight, hard nub, then closed his teeth with astonishing force around it. Hermione screamed in sharp agony. He held it between his teeth. Her scream shifted into a laugh of triumph.

"Yes, yes ... feel me .. _feel that_."

He stayed at her breasts for some time until dark bruises appeared on them and the nipples cried out, red and angry. He reached his hand down to her soaking pussy. She was so wet his fingers glided through her folds with no resistance at all.

"Fuck me! Fuck me now, so hard, Lucius. I want your pureblood cock tearing into me, tearing into my cunt, my dirty, filthy Mudblood cunt. Do it!"

The fire in his groin propelled him between her legs. The scent of her arousal came at him so hard it made him reel. He couldn't prevent the inevitable; her body was his. But her words tormented and seared him. Positioning himself, he brought his hand up to clamp hard upon her mouth, silencing her.

She bit down upon it, her breath hot, her teeth hard on his palm. He relaxed his grip only to hear more words.

"That's right, that's right, you pureblood bastard. Silence me, silence this mouth of mine: this Mudblood mouth of mine. Silence it. Gag me. Do it."

He did not hesitate, could not. He summoned a length of dense black material, twisted it haphazardly and thrust it forcefully into her mouth, gagging her instantly, unable to bear the poison pouring from her mouth. Her breath was pulled hard into her through her nose and her eyes widened in lustful triumph. He reached behind her and tied the gag tight and hard.

He glanced down; her legs flailed before him. With a spell, more leather bindings appeared. Swiftly, he pulled one leg to the side, tying it to a bedpost, the leather digging in once more to her skin. Then the other, so that her legs were spread wide and open, immobile for him.

He gazed down at her. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

_Mudblood. _

Lucius positioned himself.

_Power. Triumph._

It surged through him once again.

He thrust into the woman forced into silent submission by him. She couldn't move and absorbed all he was in his first plunge. A groan was caught in the gag.

He moved rapidly, not stopping, not taking her pleasure into account.

He plunged into her, over and over, his grunts as he thrust deeply and violently breaking the otherwise silent air.

Hermione's eyes were wide, wild. He could see nothing in them of the witch who had first entered his house those months ago. He didn't care. All he felt was pleasure and power. Through her he could achieve it. Through her he could be what he had always supposed he would be.

Her cunt squeezed his cock. With a final hard thrust, he came, bursting into her so forcefully her back bent to accommodate him.

The instant his seed had left him, mortality crashed down upon Lucius. Agony and emptiness.

He stopped. Before his pleasure had even died away fully, he stopped and pulled out of her. She had not come. It was the first time ever since they had been together.

He stood and waved his hand. Her bindings and gag immediately disappeared.

Hermione curled her limbs around her, a low chuckle starting deep within. It rose to a manic crescendo, her body shaking as the crazed laughter poured through her.

He saw deep red marks on her wrists and ankles where the leather had dug in. She didn't notice.

Lucius turned and hurried from the room. He only just managed to make it to the bathroom before the vomit propelled itself violently from his body.

After some time, concern for her guided him and, warily, Lucius returned to her.

She lay as he had left her. Her eyes opened blearily as he came in.

"Where have you been? You left so quickly."

She spoke calmly, so delicately, for a moment he could forget.

He sat on the bed, turned away from her, utterly bereft.

Hands reached over his shoulders, running down along his torso.

"You left me unsatisfied, Lucius. You must do what you need, but you know I need my pleasure to be strong. To be strong for you. Make me come, make me come now."

He did not turn to her, merely remained staring out into the room.

She crawled off the bed and over in front of him on all fours, her backside swaying up into the air.

"Fuck me. Finish it. Fuck me now. Anywhere. I give myself to you completely. What do you want? What do you want?"

He ignored her pleas. He stared out into the room, almost unaware of the woman writhing before him, her swollen lips, her rump, fully exposed in lewd detail for him.

Hermione groaned. "Please, please, I need it, I need to feel it. I want your power, I want your cock. Anywhere. Fuck my arse. Fuck me in the arse. I want it to hurt."

Lucius stood, tense, desperate.

"Yes, do it, look, look ... you want it, you want it, don't you? Hurt me. Hit me. Go on. Slap it hard. Slap me so hard the sting echoes off the walls. Make me red. Burn it out of me. My impurity. My filth."

His hand tingled, his cock stirred again. Yes. He could do that. After all this time he could be ...

He stood. He stood up, rising above her like some deity hewn in marble, his body tall and rock hard with passion. Lucius moved in front of her and pulled her forcefully to her feet.

"Stop it!"

He held her in an iron grip and stared into her. "STOP IT!"

Hermione stared wide-eyed at him, then her face contorted into a malevolent sneer. "What, Malfoy? Will you deny me? You cannot do this alone. We are as one. You will take me as you need."

"Listen to me, listen to me." His voice came almost in a wailing sob. "You are ill, Hermione. You have been cursed. This is not you. This is not right. I do not want this. I want the woman who came to me in the darkness of my life, the woman who brought me light and radiance. She is being destroyed. I want her, and I will get her back."

She looked at him for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed again, that same manic laugh which tormented his very soul.

"Please, please stop it!" His voice rose from him in a cry of desolation and he shook her desperately.

The woman pulled her hand out of his hold and slapped him hard across the face.

"Coward!" She spat into his face, her spittle falling across his cheek in a thick splat. "Fucking coward!"

But instead of the surge of anger Lucius may have felt, would have done at any other point in his life, he stepped back from her, not able to look into her face.

The witch hurled her venom at him, her voice deep and inhuman, almost unrecognisable. "Always the way, Malfoy. Never could finish what you started. Never had the fucking bollocks to follow it through. You pathetic cunt! That's what you are: a fucking cunt. Well if you won't fuck me, you can go fuck yourself! You're a disgrace to your name and your blood! Shamed your whole fucking family. Your wife fucked off and left you, your son doesn't want to know you; you sad, pathetic bastard. I offered you glory, I offered you power. You had your chance, you cowardly cunt! Fuck off! I don't want your pathetic prick anywhere near me again." Her hand rose up high and she struck him once again.

Lucius Malfoy took a step back, not quite stumbling. Then he turned and walked from the room. He closed the door behind him, and with the last vestige of sense he had left in him, he cast a locking charm on it.

He went downstairs, put on his outer robes and disapparated.

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**Do the right thing, Lucius. The trouble is ... what IS the right thing? Don't forget to pop by and like us on Facebook to join in the discussions. LL x**


	19. Chapter 19

Lucius Malfoy had not been to the Ministry of Magic since his trial.

If he had thought about it, he would have remembered that he had in fact not been into wizarding London at all for over five years.

He didn't think about it.

Working automatically, unthinkingly, save for his goal, he apparated close to the Muggle telephone box and descended into the Ministry via the visitors' entrance. This would have been unthinkable for him in the past. Now, he was hardly aware he was doing it.

As soon as the tall blond man appeared in the gleaming dark corridors of the Ministry heads turned, whispers started. He was instantly recognisable, instantly remembered. Notorious.

The witches and wizards staring as he swept swiftly past noticed the change. He still held himself tall, commanding an intimidating presence, still possessing the noble good looks of a man younger than his age, but his hair was unkempt, his sharp grey eyes more sunken and set amidst deep shadows.

No one stopped him as he moved swiftly up the stairs and along corridors. And he hardly noticed their presence.

Lucius arrived quickly in the Auror Department. He just hoped the person he needed to see was there. He glanced around. Heads were raised as he entered. His eyes were scanning the doors for one name only.

"Excuse me, may I help you? If you wish to make an appointment -" Before the PA could reach him, he had found the door he was looking for, and without even knocking, opened it rapidly.

Harry Potter looked up in amazement to find Lucius Malfoy standing inside his office.

For a moment, Harry couldn't speak, too thunderstruck to be able to form a coherent thought.

The silence was broken by his PA rushing in apologetically. "I'm so sorry, Mr Potter, he just barged straight through before I could stop him. I'll call magical security immediately."

"No!" Harry called her back abruptly. "It's alright, Portia. I'll deal with this."

His PA looked at him with concern. He gave her a weak smile and motioned for her to leave. She didn't shut the door behind her but Harry did so quickly with a flick of his hand.

"Well, I must say, Malfoy, I wouldn't have predicted this."

Harry Potter couldn't process what on earth was going on but certainly did not feel threatened by Malfoy's presence. If anything, the blond wizard seemed unsure of himself, weak even.

Malfoy stood before him, uncertain indeed. His mind raged, despite knowing exactly why he was there.

_He, Lucius Malfoy, pureblood wizard of ancient lineage, was about to ask for help from Harry Potter._

His body tensed; his mouth twitched.

Harry Potter sat looking at him, the familiar rumble of hatred stirring quickly. What the hell was this man doing here? He stared at Malfoy. The wizard seemed at odds. Had he found himself in the wrong place?

"Well, Malfoy. What do you want?" He couldn't help his voice sounding sharp and annoyed.

But then with sudden resolve, Malfoy drew himself up and looked Harry in the eye.

"Potter. There has been an incident."

Harry stared at him, waiting for further elucidation. None was forthcoming. What was the bloody man talking about?

"An incident? What? Run out of funds for the east wing extension, have you? Draco's tailor's absconded to Argentina? Not really my field of expertise, I'm afraid, Malfoy." Harry sneered, amused by his own sardonic venom.

Lucius Malfoy inhaled, his next words spat with sharp frustration. "This is no time for games, Potter."

Harry was taken aback by his lack of smooth vindictiveness. Malfoy still stood tense but remarkably determined in his room. He waited. There was no movement from the wizard. The silence between them grew too much for Harry; he suddenly felt oddly insecure.

"I suppose you should sit down, Malfoy."

Lucius pulled out a chair, almost surprised to find it there, and sank down into it with little show of the elegance he usually exhibited. It did not go unnoticed by Harry.

"Go on then."

The man opposite him spoke immediately, his words issuing out with determined fluidity, belying the tension in his body.

"Some months ago, a woman came to me to document my library. It was her task to catalogue any books relating to the Dark Arts that she found."

Harry suddenly remembered. It was Hermione who had been sent to Malfoy Manor. He had heard about it on the Ministry grapevine. He had seen her early on in the task, and she had seemed to be enjoying it and quite safe. He hadn't been in touch recently as she'd been busy with the job and he'd been away for several weeks in Russia on training. A flicker of concern and guilt ran through him. Why the hell hadn't contacted with her recently? But there had seemed no need. Hermione could take care of herself, and Malfoy had shown no inclination towards anything suspicious; he knew that from Ministry monitoring. He'd hoped that Hermione was simply enjoying the job.

Now he waited, a slight frown on his face. Malfoy seemed so unsettled. Harry's concern grew rapidly.

"The woman worked well. We, for want of better words ... _got on_. She was happy in her work. But then, she came across a book, a book I had not realised to be dark in any way, but which ..."

He stopped, his head hanging.

Harry was breathing hard. "What's happened, Malfoy? What's happened to Hermione?" His voice was determined and cold; a dreadful terror was creeping through him.

Malfoy's head rose up and he fixed his eyes into Harry's.

"I believe she has been cursed."

Harry's blood ran like ice through his veins. For a moment, he could do nothing. Malfoy reached into his pocket and withdrew his translation of the parchment from the library and handed it swiftly to Harry. Harry's eyes darted over it, and as they did all colour drained from his face.

"A soul-eating curse?"

"I fear so."

Harry's face distorted with rage. "For how long?"

Malfoy's head hung down again. "Weeks."

Harry stood, slamming his fist down on the table, breathing hard through his nose. "Why the hell didn't you come to me sooner?"

Malfoy did not answer. Harry looked down at the parchment again, confused, despairing.

"But, a soul-eating curse works through a non-pureblood and a pureblood. There has to have been a connection between the two of them. The curse feeds off the one to empower the other. The connection is normally very deep, profound, often physical ..." His head darted to Lucius and twisted in disbelief. He shook it rapidly. "You ... what did you do to her? Tell me! Tell me, you bastard!"

Harry had withdrawn his wand and was upon Malfoy instantly, grabbing his lapels and holding the tip of his wand a flicker away from his face. Lucius did nothing to stop him.

"We ... are in ... _were_ in ... a relationship." He found it easier to confess than he had anticipated.

Harry simply stared, his mouth open in horror. His wand slackened in his hand, and he released his grasp on Lucius. His incredulity overrode the anger.

At length, he glanced back up at the blond man, wanting to believe he had somehow manipulated her into it, cast a love-spell on her perhaps. He knew in his heart he had not. He knew Hermione, knew how discontent she had been, desperate to seek a new dimension to her life. Finding it in the elegant and learned man opposite him now was not beyond belief. Still, despair and hopelessness bubbled within Harry. He interrogated Malfoy with cold resentment. "Did you deceive her? Charm her into it?" He almost wanted it to be true - anything for the reality of Hermione entering willingly into a relationship with Lucius Malfoy to be subjugated.

Malfoy shook his head. "No. We ... fell in love."

He could say it now. Say it unequivocally. It was the truth. The words sounded oddly factual in the still air between them.

Harry returned to his seat, and held his head in his hands. There was silence as the enormity of what had been revealed seeped in around them. But then time ticked with frustrating regularity upon them both, and Harry remembered the situation which had brought Malfoy to him. He lifted his head with a sharp inhalation of breath. "Tell me everything, from the beginning."

And so Lucius talked, openly and carefully, detailing with remarkable honesty his relationship with Hermione, the book, and the subsequent change which had taken place in her. He omitted details of their sexual relationship but told Harry of the needs and tendencies she now exhibited. Harry listened solemnly and intently. Somewhere deep down, he admired Malfoy's honesty.

"This book, Malfoy. Are you telling me you had no idea of the curse it contained?"

Malfoy shook his head. "No. How could I? It was always presented to me as a book of love, of the purest love and passion. That is how I felt for her. I believed I was sharing something of sheer beauty with her, something which would enhance our relationship, not destroy it ...destroy her. If I had known ..." His head fell. Harry could sense despair rising out of him. He believed him.

But still his anger was strong. "And you, Malfoy? How did this curse affect you? Just as it took two to come into effect, it will work through both of you, albeit only to further the impact on the curse bearer."

Lucius could not at first look at him, but there had to be transparency, complete honesty. For her. For Hermione.

"It made me feel everything I always wanted to be."

Harry stared at him silently as Lucius slowly continued.

"And at those times, I adored her for it more than I could fathom. When we were together, all the pain, all the torment vanished and I felt more alive, more ... invincible than ever before. She was fulfilling me. I could be who I was born to be. At last ... _at last_."

"So why stop that, Malfoy? Why give up the promise of glory?"

Lucius stared beyond him, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the picture on the wall of Harry's mother smiling warmly.

"Because I do not want that anymore."

"And what do you want?"

Silence.

"I want Hermione back."

Harry swallowed hard before his voice broke the tenuous fragility between them. "What to do?"

Malfoy looked up and indicated the parchment. "You have read it. It is the only way."

Harry studied the parchment again. "Two people who love her. Willing to sacrifice themselves through love." He looked up at his former enemy. He knew the only two people it could be. Lucius spoke for him.

"You and I, Potter."

Harry set his face straight. "Hermione is my oldest and dearest friend. I love her, yes. I love her as much as my wife, in her own way. Am I willing to die for her?" He closed his eyes. "I was before. With the deepest regret that it has come to this ... I am now."

Lucius' eyes closed with relief. Harry kept talking. "And you, Malfoy? Are you willing to die for her? Do you love her so completely?"

There was a heavy silence.

"Yes. I love her. I would not be here if I did not."

The silence remained after he had spoken.

Then suddenly, urgently, Harry stood. "Well, come on then. There's not a moment to lose. I must go and get these ingredients from the Potions Store. Wait here. I think it's best if we keep this between ourselves for now, don't you?"

Lucius' shifted his eyes away, nodding once. Relief at Potter's discretion sank through him.

"I'll have to make up some reason for getting all this stuff. There are some pretty incendiary things on this list. Luckily ..." He glanced back at Malfoy with a rise of his eyebrows. "... I'm Chief Auror."

With that, Harry left the room. Lucius sat, still and silent, awaiting his return.

It was half an hour before Harry came back, but it seemed far longer. Lucius felt the minutes slipping away, every second piercing his heart, piercing Hermione's soul.

At last Harry returned, clasping a shoulder bag full of items.

"Bloody hell. Even I got some suspicious looks asking for these ingredients. Luckily we've been busy fighting a rise in vampires in Siberia recently. I told them I'd run out of supplies. Sometimes my past can be advantageous after all." He raised a rueful eyebrow, never happy trading on his fame.

"I'll tell my PA I'm finishing for the day. I'll also tell her you have suspicions of werewolves on your land and need my help and that we're leaving together from here. She's used to me disapparating from the office. I don't think we should be seen walking the corridors together."

Lucius stood up, still silent. The two men looked at each other for a moment, the determination to save Hermione apparent in both their eyes. An understanding passed between them which had never occurred before and was unlikely to be repeated.

Harry set his mouth straight and nodded. "Come on then. She needs us."

Lucius withdrew his wand quickly and held his arm straight. He glanced at Harry and nodded for him to take hold of it. With little hesitation, the younger wizard did so. With a resounding pop, the two of them vanished from the office amidst a swirl of light.

A moment later they were at the Manor, having reappeared just inside the gates.

Harry stared up at the Elizabethan building, the years seeming to vanish before him. The large house hardly contained happy memories for him.

"Didn't think I'd ever see this place again."

"Come along." Lucius was determined as he strode up the drive. Harry hurried after him.

Inside, Harry glanced around the hallway, still bright, still radiant from Hermione's care and vitality, even if the light was fading from her.

"Nice tree." He couldn't help his surprise sounding.

"Hermione."

Harry smiled. "I can imagine. It's just like her. Beautiful star on top. Not very bright though. You could enchant it to -"

"Yes. Enough of that."

Harry stopped. Malfoy was right. He mustn't become distracted. Grimble appeared silently before them, looking up at Harry with a sneer of surprise.

"Grimble, will you take Mr Potter's coat, please?"

The elf's sneer deepened. "Harry Potter. The pleasure is all mine ... _sir_." Grimble bowed low, but Harry could detect the bitter distaste in his voice despite the careful words. He handed him his coat.

"Thank you." After Grimble had left with his coat, he turned to Lucius. "OK, Malfoy, I confess, I'm not certain how to approach this. We need her to remain as calm as possible. If she becomes too distressed, it'll be much harder to administer the potion. I doubt she'll take it willingly, so we may have to use certain spells to bring that about. But the fewer we can use, the more chance we have of the magic working in its purest form, and therefore, the more chance of success. She is sure to become agitated, but we might have to play along with it. She needs to at least accept that we are both there."

Lucius nodded.

"It's probably best that we make up most of the potion first, without any ... distractions. Do you agree?"

"Yes."

Lucius led him through the house, reaching the dining room. With a flick of his wand, the large table cleared and a small cauldron stove appeared on it.

"We must no delay," he hissed urgently.

"No." Harry dropped the heavy bag down on the table and quickly removed the ingredients. He lit the stove with willow wood and placed the silver cauldron on top. Harry and Lucius took turns to place the various objects into the pot, taking care to crush, tear and stir according to the specific instructions. Their blood was to be added last.

"OK." Harry took a deep breath. He glanced across at Lucius. For a moment, the two men seemed unsure, lacking resolve and confidence. Then with a sudden flourish of movement, Lucius removed his outer robes and ripped up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing his muscled forearm. He extended his hand, baring the pale flesh on the underside, his tendons stretching along it.

The blood was to be extracted at the same time, the one cutting the other's arm with their wands in unison.

"I hereby swear my love for the witch, Hermione Jean Granger. I avow to heal and cleanse her through my blood, my soul and my love. If it is to fail, I will forfeit my life." Lucius' voice sounded loud and clear in the stillness of the ancient room.

Harry swallowed hard and pulled up his own sleeve. He looked into Lucius' eyes and repeated the words he had just heard from the blond wizard.

"I hereby swear my love for the witch, Hermione Jean Granger. I avow to heal and cleanse her through my blood, my soul and my love. If it is to fail, I will forfeit my life."

The two men withdrew their wands and placed them on each other's wrists.

Lucius and Harry looked at each other, aware, for the first time ever, that respect existed between them. Lucius inhaled sharply and nodded to Harry. Then with careful precision, they drew their wands up each other's arms. Immediately, dark red lines appeared along their flesh, and deep blood poured from the wounds. Harry hissed with pain. Lucius' face registered a faint flicker of sensation. Mutually, they moved their arms over the cauldron and allowed the blood to drip heavily into the mixture.

Immediately, the potion bubbled and boiled with tempestuous power. Steam ascended relentlessly and arches of red liquid rose out of it, threatening to spill over but always managing somehow to remain contained within.

Harry flinched, a shadow passing across his face, his eyes closing. There was a surge within him. It reminded him ... If Lucius felt it too, he did not show it.

Harry glanced at him again, his face still determined, and together, over the potion, the two of them incanted the words.

_"Amoria flammare com spiritus uniquios_

_Lavare corporea, lavare spirito_

_Lavare spiritus com amoria flammare_

_Lavare iniquitatem_

_Spiritus completo par amoria eternum."_

As they spoke, the potion swelled and stirred ever more, until on the last word a flash of red light was ripped up out of it, and the air hung heavy for some time in a deep crimson glow. Harry's hands gripped the table, his breathing deep. Lucius took a step back to steady himself against the force suddenly gripping him.

Harry glanced at him, "Did you feel that?"

"Yes."

"What did it feel like to you?"

Lucius paused, his eyes glazing. "The past."

Harry looked away. "Yes." His lips pursed. "I don't like being reminded of the past."

"It will get worse. This is only the beginning."

"I know."

The glow in the room faded and the potion settled. It was complete, until the time when Hermione's blood would be mixed with it. Taking a silver bottle, Lucius scooped some out and poured it in, stoppering it carefully. He turned once again to Harry. The younger man had recovered his sense and stood tall.

"Right. Where is she?" queried Harry.

Lucius motioned out of the room. Harry started to move. "Potter!" Lucius' sharp tones halted him in his progress.

"I must warn you ... she is much changed ... unrecognisable almost, physically and emotionally. She may behave in a way you find distressing. She may say things designed to tear at the essence of your being."

"I am prepared, Malfoy. You forget, I've seen it all before."

"Not with her."

Harry paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. "You do realise that ... we are going to suffer through this too, don't you? It will make us feel things, see things, which we had hoped never to see again. We just had a taste of it."

"Yes." Lucius looked him straight in the eye. "I am ready."

"Very well." Harry nodded back.

Then Lucius moved past him, leading the way out of the room and into the hallway. "Come along."

With that, the two men ascended the stairs.


	20. Chapter 20

**This is a difficult chapter. I've written worse and read worse, but in the context of this story, it's tough. Be warned. (Tough but necessary.)**

* * *

Lucius led the younger man along the corridor. Harry's footsteps grew heavier with each step. He had strength beyond reckoning, but was he prepared for this?

They reached the door. Lucius glanced back at Harry and paused. At that moment, Harry had never appreciated another person's humanity so much. He locked eyes with Lucius and nodded. Lucius opened the door.

The room was dark. Harry scanned it rapidly. At first, he thought there had been some mistake. Surely it was empty. There was no sign of life in here. But then, on the bed he spied a shape. He thought it was some sort of animal. He could make out thin, bony feet, limbs curled tightly into themselves, a mass of hair sprawling in thick tangles.

His breath was halted for a moment.

It was a woman. It was Hermione.

She lay, clad only in a short nightdress of some kind, gripping her limbs in tight to her.

The two men stood looking down in silence at the witch curled foetally on the vast bed - the witch they both adored more than anything.

Harry swallowed hard. In his life he had seen so much pain, seen life flayed bare before him, but this sight filled him with more wrenching agony than anything before.

Lucius at length moved a little further into the room.

"Hermione." He spoke with the gentle normality he had striven so hard to maintain.

She did not stir.

"There is someone here to see you."

"Hello, Hermione." Harry's voice struggled not to crack.

The woman on the bed heard something. It was a memory. A foggy dream from another time.

Her aching body turned, her dull eyes were forced open. Two men stood before her. One familiar, tall, white hair atop his form. The other shorter, dark, bespectacled.

_Who was he?_

The dark man approached her. Instinctively, she moved back.

"Hermione," the darker man repeated, gently. She frowned at him. "It's Harry."

_Harry?_ The name sounded in the dim recesses of her mind.

"Harry Potter."

_Harry Potter?_ Her fogged mind cleared a little, that sharp point of blinding light which had guided her recently flashing again. She knew Harry Potter. She knew him well. She remembered.

She pushed herself up, her body suddenly enervated, energy flowing back to her.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, her face fixed into a grin. "My friend!"

Harry smiled with delight and moved across to her. Her arms came around his neck and she pulled him in remarkably firmly to her. His hands came around her waist. He was shocked by the ribs poking through her thin frame. He tried to pull back to speak to her, but she held him there. He tried to pull back again. He could not. Her hold on him seemed ridiculously strong, especially for someone so thin, so ill.

But her embrace was not a friendly one, neither a familiar one; it was predatory, he could sense it. Her bony fingers dug into his back. He tried in vain to pull back once again, but her inhuman strength held him there.

Hermione was smiling, a broad grin, exposing only her upper teeth. She glanced across at Lucius and raised her eyebrows.

"Harry's here, Lucius. He's my friend. I've known him for a long time. Longer than you."

Lucius drew himself up and looked away. He knew what to expect. He had prepared himself.

At last she relaxed her grip on Harry but moved only a little back from him.

"Do you remember Lucius, Harry?" Harry simply pursed his lips in response. "He was a bad man. A very, very bad man." She pouted to exaggerate her claims. "But he's a great fuck."

She smiled at her old friend. Harry could not meet her eyes.

"Look at me, Harry. Did you hear what I said?" Her voice was deep and insistent.

"I heard you, Hermione."

"Do you see him, Harry? Isn't he beautiful? He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. I never grow tired of fucking him. I live for his cock. He has the most perfect cock. But ... he doesn't want me anymore." She pouted again and sank back onto the bed.

"Hermione," Harry continued quietly, "you're ill. You've been cursed. Lucius has called me here to help you. To help rid you of the curse."

Hermione was ignoring his words. She sat up before him, her legs bent under her. In one smooth motion, her hands came up and pulled her top off quickly, exposing her naked breasts before him. Despite her weight loss, she was still beautiful.

Harry stepped back, averting his eyes quickly in embarrassment. Lucius lowered his gaze but waited. As much as it tormented him to witness this, he knew any sudden action on their part would put their hopes in peril.

"Harry. Look at me, look at me. You are my friend. I know you've thought about me, imagined me. Look, look." She spoke with such deliberate sensuality it staggered both men. Harry clenched his fists.

Hermione's eyes closed, and her hands came up to cup her breasts; her hands ran over the nipples.

"I want to be fucked, Harry. I need it. He's pathetic!" She turned to glare at Lucius, spitting her last words at him venomously. Lucius cringed but held his ground.

Hermione was now grinding herself along her curled up legs, her hands still gripping her breasts. She wriggled closer to Harry.

She reached over one hand to cup his face and stroke it. "Always so lovely, Harry. Let me see you, Harry. I want to see you." Her hand was sliding down his chest, pressing into his toned torso, shaped by years of Auror training. He could not ignore the stirrings in his groin. He swallowed hard.

"Hermione, stop. Put your clothes back on. This isn't you. We need to do something."

She grinned and bit her lip. "I know what we can do." Her hand was moving ever lower. She moved her mouth to his ear. His eyes closed to stem the rising tide of lust gripping him. But her words now came with heavy eroticism, dripping into his ear. "Do you remember that time when we were on the run, when it was just you and me in the tent? I wanted you then. I used to dream about you, imagine your cock, imagine you fucking me."

"No, you didn't."

"Oh, yes. Yes, I did. I watched you when you dressed, when you washed." Her hand moved ever lower. He was struggling to breathe but knew that any sudden intervention by either him or Lucius could jeopardise their efforts.

She reached his groin. He tried to force his mind to think of anything but sexual pleasure, but it was impossible. Despite the fact that he knew this was evil speaking, evil acting, he could not deny the effect. She rubbed along his ever-hardening penis.

Hermione moved round to fix him with a teasing smirk. "You see, Harry. I was right. You do want me. Of course you do. Now, perhaps if he won't fuck me, you will." Her hands started to release him. She turned to Lucius, dismissively. "You can watch."

It was too much. Lucius drew his wand quickly and suddenly but at the same time, Harry pulled back out of her grasp, tucking himself away swiftly.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Hermione shot away from Harry and landed with a thud across the bed.

Immediately, she was up again, a snarl twisting her beautiful face, rendering it unrecognisable.

"Jealous, Malfoy!?" Her voice was deep, as it had become of late when the curse rattled through her blood. "Well, if you can't handle it that's what you get, you pathetic limp maggot! Couldn't keep up with me, could you? So much for pureblood superiority! After all I tried to do to make me pure for you.

"Harry! Take me. You, of all people. I need you. The Chosen One. He has shamed his name, his family. Disgraced himself and his line. You must have me now."

She lay down on the bed, completely naked before them both, writhing, her limbs stretched through the covers, a deep animalistic groan sounding through her incessantly.

Lucius was taut. If he felt the pain, he didn't show it. This was not the woman he loved. She had been taken from him and he would get her back.

"Harry! Harry! Fuck me, fuck me now! I must have your body and your cock! Do it, do it!"

"No, Hermione. Listen to me. You must be still. We are going to have to work a counter curse on you - a potion and an incantation. It needs two of us, two people who care for you, who love you. But it will hurt, it won't be easy. You must lie still now."

She laughed, a manic laugh pulled from her with crazed hilarity. "Love!? Don't speak to me about love! He doesn't know what love is! And you!? No one ever showed you love! Fuck the both of you!"

She was now standing on the bed, her hair and eyes wild, her body rigid. She glared now at Harry, spitting as much venom at him as she had previously done at Lucius. "Fuck off, you pathetic little runt! I don't want some little half-blood prick in me anyway. Fuck off back to that Weasley slut and fuck her rancid little cunt instead. She's welcome to you, the fucking blood traitor!"

Harry's heart panged with agony, but he closed his eyes tight against her words. This was not her. He shot Lucius a look. They no longer had a choice.

Harry withdrew his wand.

"_Levicorpus!"_

Hermione rose swiftly into the air, her limbs flailing but unable to allow her to descend. Her eyes darted wildly in her head.

"You fuckers! You fucking bastards! Put me down! Down!"

She writhed, her naked body twisting and turning futilely against the spell which held her.

"Hermione." Lucius called her name calmly and softly.

She cried out with raging frustration, thrashing her limbs wildly about her.

"Hermione," he repeated in the same tones. "Calm. We must release the spell."

Another groan rose from the witch, but amidst her deep breathing, she finally allowed her limbs to settle, until at length, her body hung limply in the air, her chest rising and falling, her tangled hair dropping in a mass of brown curls down from her.

Lucius and Harry glanced at her and, with careful precision, Harry at last guided her down onto the bed with his wand.

As soon as she hit the soft coverings, Hermione's limbs enclosed around her and she shook with some great inner chill.

"What do you want with me, what do you want with me?" She repeated the words in a chant of desperation.

"We are going to help you. We are going to save you." Lucius voice contained as much desperation as hers, but only he heard it.

The woman before them was sobbing, shaking with empty wretchedness. For a time, the two men were frozen in agony.

"I don't deserve it. I don't deserve to live. I am worthless. I am not worthy of life, miserable wretched Mudblood whore that I am."

"No, no, Hermione. Listen to me. Listen. You must take this potion. It will cure you. It will help you." Harry spoke as calmly as he could as Lucius produced the silver bottle. Hermione glanced at it warily and with inhuman speed shot to cower at the head of the bed, her eyes darting from one to the other in terror.

"Don't come near me. You're going to kill me. I know it. You want to kill me. It's poison. Yes, yes, it is - poison." Her eyes widened and a sickening open-mouthed grin spread over her face. "Yes, that's right. That's what I deserve. Death is the only thing good enough for me. Now. Now."

Harry and Lucius could hardly bear to witness the destruction of her sanity, but still they had to persist.

"Hermione," Lucius spoke softly again. "We are not going to kill you. We are going to let you live, like you did before. You will be happy again. But first, we need to take some of your blood. You must let us do that."

She frowned in mad confusion at him. "My blood is impure, filthy. You don't want my blood. It will taint you. You must keep away from it, keep away from me."

"No, no, my darling." It was almost a sob. Harry glanced at him.

The two men moved slowly up the bed and sat on either side of her. She drew her naked legs up into her, looking from one to the other with fearful crazed anxiety.

Lucius reached out and took her hand. It was tiny and limp in his long fingers; it felt alien. Was this the hand of the same person who had so enthralled him all those weeks ago?

But with relief, he realised that she wasn't pulling it away. Instead, she seemed quite placid, as if she had given up completely. With aching acceptance, they knew that they could at least proceed this way.

With a glance at each other, they withdrew their wands. Hermione tensed immediately, hissing at them but not pulling back.

"It's alright, Hermione. It will sting but that is all. It is to help you. Remember, it is to help you."

Lucius tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her arm gently out to them. Then, before she altered again, they brought their wands together down to her wrist and drew them along the pale flesh.

A great cry of anguish rose from Hermione, and her blood flowed in inhumanly scarlet rivulets down her arm. Quickly, Lucius unstoppered the bottle and caught some of the blood within it.

Looking at Harry, the two of them once again incanted the spell.

_'Amoria flammare com spiritus uniquios_

_Lavare corporea, lavare spirito_

_Lavare spiritus com amoria flammare_

_Lavare iniquitatem_

_Spiritus completo par amoria eternum.'_

Again, the liquid rose from the bottle but did not spill. The crimson glow bloomed out of it, engulfing them in a haze of despair.

Harry fell back, a cry of horror pulled from him. Lucius inhaled deeply, his eyes widening as darkness captured his mind.

"You vile servants of destruction! Get away from me. I know you not. Your bodies are a deceit to yourselves and an insult to me!" Hermione's body was tense, gripped by malicious power once again. She stretched along the bed, her back arched up high. Her voice had sounded low and deep, but as she spoke again, it rose to a whine of despair. "Go fuck yourselves. If you won't fuck me, go and fuck yourselves!"

But then, as the crimson glow faded, so too did her bilious madness. She calmed once again, sinking into the bed and drawing her limbs around her, retreating into foetal ignorance.

"Hermione," Harry whispered softly. He came around and gently and carefully reached out to hold her. She didn't resist. He glanced at Lucius in relief. Manoeuvring her carefully, he drew her up, resting her against him. Her eyes were closed, her head hung down.

"Hermione." It was Lucius who spoke now. "You must drink this. You must drink all of it. And then all the pain will be over. And you will be free again."

Her eyes opened slowly and she looked at him. For the briefest moment he thought he saw a little of the light back in her eyes. With the jolt of faint hope, he brought the bottle to her lips.

At first, she opened a little without resistance. Lucius tipped the bottle, and saw some of the liquid pour into her mouth. He exhaled in delight.

Hermione did not spit it out, but her face creased with agonised horror, and as the potion dripped down her throat she opened her mouth wide and wailed, an inhuman wail of utter desolation.

It was then that it gripped the two men.

With sudden and devastating darkness, their minds clouded. Harry gripped onto Hermione, now needing her to support him from the spinning world.

_Images swam through his head, images so familiar, yet so new, dark and dangerous; his parents, his mother's death, Voldemort's twisted face, Dumbledore tumbling from the Astronomy tower, and then more. _

_Hermione was lying on a bed, similar to the one they were now on, naked, her beautiful body arched towards him, her legs wide ... so open for him. He saw himself, naked also, lowering towards her, plunging into her. Her head fell back in ecstasy, in triumph. And he felt it, he felt the pleasure, felt the power. Unbelievable sensations flooded him as he thrust over and over unstoppably into his best friend. He didn't want to stop, he couldn't stop. _

_He turned his head. Off to the left there was someone in the shadows, smiling at him. That face, the narrow red eyes, the long nostrils ... Voldemort. But Harry did not mind. Yes. It was good that he was there. Good that he was seeing. Still, he plunged deep into Hermione, pounding her, her body jolting up the bed. The figure to his left moved towards Hermione. Voldemort came to stand at her head, looking down at her, his mouth slightly open in a vile lascivious grin. Long, pale fingers descended, and gripped her shoulders, holding her in place for Harry. Still he plunged ever more desperately into her, driven by a feeling of such triumph. Voldemort's face rose up to meet his eyes, and his mouth widened into a deeper grin as his fingers dug into Hermione's shoulders so hard he drew blood. But if it pained her she did not notice. Her head was thrown back in rapt exultation, and Harry felt her pleasure as he felt his own, surging through them both triumphantly. And then, as he looked, she turned her head to the right, and a man bent down to kiss her hungrily. A man with long blond hair, as naked as they were. Lucius Malfoy. He plundered her mouth then turned to look at Harry, a sickening grin on his face. But the sight did not put Harry off. Never had he felt so glorious. Still he ploughed along her. Lucius was by now sucking on her nipples hard. _

_Voldemort bent his head, lowered his thin lips towards her. She raised her head towards him, seeking him out. Long, white fingers reached over to her face, caressing it, stroking with vile silkiness. Opening her mouth, she flitted her tongue out hungrily to lick over the fingers extended to her. And then, his fingers were replaced with his mouth, his tongue, searching into her open lips._

With a cry of terror, Harry was pulled away from the vision. His eyes darted wildly about the room. There was no sign of Voldemort. The tall figure of Lucius sat on the bed, fully clothed. Harry glanced down. Hermione was still slumped in his arms, her face contorted with malice, but she was not fighting them. His eyes refocused, his breathing settled. But looking at Lucius it was clear he was going through a similar thing.

_At that moment, in the black deprivation of Lucius' mind, he was back in Azkaban, chained, barren. But from his cell he was looking out into the darkness of his own house. Through the dim shadows of Malfoy Manor moved people, remnants of the past; Draco mocking him, his wife entwined with other men... with Lestrange, with ... Snape. He tried to rise, strike them, but could not move. And then he came, the Dark Lord, leaning over him, his narrow slits of eyes peering into his face. He reached out his hand to Lucius, and Lucius saw that his manacles had come away. He brought his hand up, holding it out to Voldemort. But the Dark Lord's hand remained a tantalising inch away. Every time Lucius reached out further for it, it was withdrawn a little more. _

_And then a figure appeared behind the Dark Lord; small feminine hands were drawn around his waist, sensually, erotically. A face followed, grinning across at Lucius. It was Hermione. The long fingers of Voldemort moved to her face, raising it up to look at him. She smiled at the sunken visage, a smile that she usually bestowed only on him. Lucius cried out in horror. Hermione merely turned to him and placed a finger on her lips to quieten him. _

_Lucius was witnessing them as if through a shadow, a reflection of his deepest fears and terrors. He tried time and again to reach out, but was always stopped by some invisible force. He could only look on in panicked disbelief as he saw the pale inhuman visage of the Dark Lord lowering to meet Hermione's mouth with his. She opened hungrily for him, allowing him to feast on her. His thin fingers came down and gripped a breast, finding the nipple and squeezing it hard between them. Hermione groaned, the sound passing through the fog of helplessness to Lucius' ears. He recognised it as the sound of her unbridled pleasure. He could not stop a despairing sob of his own colliding with it, but this time his sound seemed to be silenced on the thick air between them._

_Voldemort was now pulling Hermione down with him to the ground, pushing her legs apart and placing himself between them._

_Lucius rushed forward again. He got nowhere. The Dark Lord merely turned and fixed him with his rancid grin, which shifted quickly into a look of disgusted disdain._

_And then Hermione's hands reached for the pale, smooth head, guiding it towards her core. Lucius tried to close his eyes against the sight. He could not. The woman before him was now writhing, pushing her hips up in desperate lustful need towards the grim figure before her. And, unable to stop it, Lucius watched as Voldemort's head lowered to her, his long tongue extending to her sex. With a long, slow sweep, he licked along her, causing her to arch in uncontrolled ecstasy. And there he stayed, sucking, feasting on her. _

_Lucius tried to connect with her, to get her to look at him. He could not. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open to draw in breaths of rapture. He recognised that look. He knew she was transported with pleasure. He could do nothing to prevent it._

_And then on the other side of Voldemort another figure appeared. It was his son, his sneer directed straight at Lucius. The Dark Lord glanced up from his attentions to Hermione only to motion to Draco. The younger man was suddenly naked before them, his erect cock jutting out towards Hermione's mouth. Only then did she open her eyes and smirk languidly at Draco, who returned her smile. Draco brought his head down to her first, and they kissed with hot open passion, their tongues writhing together visibly before Lucius._

_Draco pulled up, holding his swollen cock in one hand, guiding it to the mouth of the witch lying supine before him. Voldemort had by now pushed his fingers deep into her. Her pussy opened to him with welcoming pliancy. And now, Hermione's mouth opened just as readily. Her tongue came out, seeking out the engorged head of Draco's erection. With smooth precision, Lucius' son guided it between her lips, his head falling back in a laugh of triumph._

_Lucius cried out with horror, a soundless, futile cry. Voldemort raised himself to look at him with disinterest before withdrawing his own long and rigid erection. Hermione moaned loud with expectation. With a final sneer at Lucius, mirrored in the face of Draco, Voldemort thrust hard and deep into Hermione._

_Lucius' mouth opened once again to scream his despair; he fought against the force keeping him from them. He cried her name out, over and over, but no sound came. His body was cramped with despairing agony, but never had he been so weak and helpless. Draco was forcing himself in and out of her mouth brutally, Voldemort gripped her hips with painful sharpness, but still Hermione was completely in thrall to the pleasure holding her body. Her back was arched to welcome Voldemort's thrusts, her lips tightly clamped around Draco's throbbing cock._

_And then, the two men turned to lock eyes with Lucius. The Dark Lord raised his hand to him, extending it, open-palmed, as if inviting him in. Lucius found himself at last able to move. He glanced at Draco. He too, was beckoning to his father. _

_But just as had taken one step, the Dark Lord's hand came up, stopping him, and Lucius found himself once again bound by invisible constraints. He railed against them with silent, pained frustration. The two faces of the men were still looking at him. Their mouths broke into sickening grins, and together, their heads fell back and they laughed, foul, putrid laughs which poisoned the air with malicious emptiness. But their laughs were then quietened as pleasure gripped them all. Draco pulled out at the last moment, his face twisting as he came, his semen falling heavily onto Hermione's face. Her eyes widened with the shock of rapture, her pleasure clearly propelling itself through her unstoppably. At that moment, Voldemort's head fell back, his mouth gaped, and his arms extended suddenly, wide with victory, as he exploded into her_

A piercing cry rent the air. Lucius tore open his eyes and stared wildly around him. His heart was pounding so fiercely in his chest, he believed he must be near death. His eyes darted frantically round. The sight before him was gone. It was his own scream, finally restored, which had pulled him back to reality. Sweat poured from his forehead, his mind spun with torment. But as he finally stared hard into the familiar surroundings, the last remnant of reason he had told him to act.

Instinctively, urgently, his fingers trembling with despair, he brought the bottle back to Hermione's lips and poured more in. She took it, but once again the two men were engulfed in the warped visions of their darkest fears and terrors. Pain gripped them both, cramping their bodies in spasms. Lucius tried to draw the bottle up to Hermione's lips once more, but his arm was no longer obeying him. He did not have the reason or strength to act. Luckily, Harry was able to take it, and brought it up to her lips, pouring yet more into her. Hermione was moaning unstoppably, a sound of unearthly despair and loss. But still the potion entered her. There was by now little left.

Harry brought the bottle up for the last time. Just as it touched her lips, a flash of red agony shot through him, and his muscles were gripped in cramping spasms. His fingers clenched on the bottle but he could not move it.

_Images from the final battle shot through his head. His friends lay dead around him - Tonks, Remus, Fred Weasley. A wand was pointing at them ... it was his own wand, held in his own hand. Harry saw his own face. He was laughing; laughing down at the corpses of those he had killed._

Harry cried out with a wrenching scream and felt the bottle about to fall from his hand.

But just as it nearly tumbled, fingers enclosed upon it once again. With the remaining remnant of his soul, Lucius grasped it and raised it to Hermione's lips. He tilted it, his hands shaking so hard he thought they had broken. The last drops poured into her mouth.

_Flashes filled his head. He was battling with Voldemort, great angry flashes of light from their wands meeting in electric arcs of hatred. But then the Dark Lord fell, defeated at Lucius' hand. He stood suddenly, triumphant. The vision shifted quickly. Lucius was all at once raised up, high up somewhere, he was not sure where, Hogwarts perhaps. Down below were people, looking up at him, fearful, pointing. And then he felt hands upon him, holding him. He glanced to his side. Hermione's beautiful face smiled up at him. He smiled back and leant down to kiss her. She kissed him back more delicately, more tantalising than ever before. He felt the usual stirrings of his desire, even in this vision his pleasure was vivid and powerful. But then the pleasure morphed into sharp agonising pain. He glanced down, Hermione was smiling up at him, but in her hand she held her wand. It was pointing straight at his heart. As he watched, the wand changed into a sharp shard of metal and, still looking deep into his eyes with a smile, she plunged it into him._

All went suddenly and profoundly black.

Time passed, although he did not know it. Lucius was vaguely aware of something touching his skin. Was he alive? He was not sure. If he was alive, he was not sure he wanted to return to where he had just been. His limbs were heavy, his eyes shut fast. He could feel his own pulse throbbing loud in his head, pounding him back to awareness. A voice was calling. He was being shaken by someone.

"Malfoy! Malfoy! Wake up." The hands shook more vigorously. "Lucius!"

Slowly, he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred. There seemed to be a bespectacled man looking at him.

"Lucius - it's over. Wake up. I need you."

Lucius blinked unseeingly into the room. "She killed me."

Harry managed a small smile. "Not quite. Although you certainly gave a pretty good impression of it for a while. But I know what you mean. I didn't think I'd ever have to go through anything like that again. It's over now. We did it. We survived. But ... you need to help me."

Lucius suddenly remembered. Remembered what they had been doing and why. He sat up, rising from the bed with a start. "Where is she? Where is she? Is she alright?"

Harry held him as he swayed on his weakened legs. "She's over there. I can't tell exactly, but she seems to be ... over it. She's breathing at least."

Lucius shook him off, turning to look around the room. Harry allowed him his reaction.

There on the bed, lying still and quiet, was Hermione.

He stopped. She looked so pale, as if death was working through her. He sucked in a breath. But then he saw her hand move, and he crossed to her instantly. He waited for the surge of power, the adrenaline to course through him, for her to reach to him in sexual delirium once again. She did not. Instantly, he knew it was gone.

Gone were the visions, the torment. Once again, he saw before him only a woman he adored, a woman he had been prepared to die for.

But the overwhelming joy and relief which sank into his bones was soon dismissed. She was so weak she was barely alive.

His hand came out tentatively, hesitantly, and he pushed a damp tendril of hair off her face.

"Hermione." He had never said her name with such tenderness, with such love.

At first, he got no response, and a dreadful terror crept over him that he could sense her life ebbing away finally. But then, slowly, almost invisibly, her head moved a little, turning towards him.

"Hermione, my darling. I'm here."

Her head moved round completely, and with a desperate effort, she pulled her eyes open. Lucius' face broke into the most exultant smile.

"Lucius?" Her voice came, weak and cracked, but it was a voice he recognised, a voice he adored.

"Yes, yes, my darling ... I'm here, I'm here."

Her eyes, glazed and exhausted, held his, but deep within he could once again see the dance.

She smiled, a small smile: the most beautiful sight ever. "Hello."

He laughed with delight, tears forming hot in his eyes. "Hello."

Hermione frowned weakly. "What happened to me? I don't feel very well."

He laughed a little more, relief washing through him unstoppably. "No, I don't suppose you do. I've felt better myself. Don't worry now. It's all over, that's all you need to know. It's all over."

She smiled and raised a weary hand to cup his face. "I missed you."

"I missed you too. I missed you so, so much. I'm sorry, my darling, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Her thumb stroked against the wet of his cheeks. "Why are you crying?"

He looked deep into her. "Because I love you."

For a time she just looked at him, tears welling in her own eyes. "I love you too."

He bent down, and with tender certainty, kissed her.

There was a faint cough behind them. Hermione's eyes moved to the source of it. "Harry!" Her friend crossed over as she held her hand out to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I ... uh ... had something to sort out with Lucius."

"Really?" She looked from one to the other in amazement.

"Yes. Harry has been ... most helpful."

"Did you two just call each other by your first names?" She couldn't hide the astonishment in her voice.

They laughed. "Yes, I think we did," Lucius grinned.

Hermione looked from one to the other, her mind slowly tying up the threads flying around it. "I suppose this means you know about me and Lucius?"

"Yes." Harry smiled softly.

There was a moment's silence, as if everybody was expecting someone else to say something. Nobody did. At last, Hermione inhaled deeply and opened her mouth to speak once again, but was stopped by a throbbing head. "God knows what's been going on here, but you'll have to tell me later."

"Indeed." Lucius kissed her again.

"I ... err ... I'd better get going now." Harry motioned to the door, but came over and kissed Hermione on the forehead first. "I'll come back and check on you in the next day or so. If that's alright?"

"Of course," Lucius confirmed.

She smiled up at Harry. "See you soon."

"OK. Rest. And ... uh ... Merry Christmas." Harry grinned broadly at his friend.

Lucius walked him to the door. Harry stopped and looked up at him. "Are you alright?"

"I am now."

"That was not something I want to do again in a hurry. For a moment, I thought I'd lost you. You were like death for almost an hour. I checked on Hermione and made her comfortable, but I admit, I was ... worried about you." He didn't raise his eyes to look at Lucius. Lucius let out a small grunt of acknowledgement.

"I believe I may have been in hell for a while." He spoke with his usual smooth dryness. Harry at last looked at him with sardonic acceptance.

"Yes. Me too." He set his features straight. "Right, I have to go now. You will look after her, won't you?"

"Of course I will. You have my word on it."

"I know. Perhaps one day soon we'll talk about ... all of this."

He turned to go.

"Potter!"

Harry turned back. Lucius stepped into him and extended his hand. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry took his hand firmly and shook it. Then, with a nod, he turned and left.

Lucius closed the door gently and turned back to the woman in the bed. Hermione smiled weakly and held out a hand towards him. The glow within him was back so fiercely, he thought it would erupt into magic. Instead, he felt his eyes moistening yet again. Composing himself, he walked over and sat beside her, stroking her hair from her face carefully.

"Lucius. You look so worn out. What's been going on?"

He smiled ruefully. "Oh, this and that."

"I'm aware time has passed, but ... I can't remember ... I have tried ... my mind is so cloudy ... it's tormenting me, but ... I just haven't the energy to worry about it."

"No." He bent to kiss her forehead. "Don't worry about it. There's nothing to worry about. All is well."

"Will you stay here? I need to sleep, but ... I don't want to be alone. Stay, please."

"Of course." He never had any intention of doing otherwise. Removing his shoes, he raised himself onto the bed and lay beside her, resting on the pillows. Hermione nestled against him. He drew his arm around her and held her until he felt her breathing slowing. He glanced down. She was asleep, not the fitful tormented sleep which had plagued her in recent weeks, but a sleep of complete peace and exhausted contentment.

He smiled and kissed the top of her head before allowing sleep to claim him as it had her.

* * *

**Phew. (That's not the end, by the way, just in case you were wondering.) Thanks for sticking with them. They're worth it.**


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry for the slight wait on this one, due to a combination of technical issues on ffnet and a busy life. Enjoy. x**

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Although the sleep which overcame Lucius was peaceful and restorative, he didn't permit it to keep him from his conscious care of Hermione for too long. Several times during the night he awoke and dropped his gaze to the woman sleeping in his arms. Her breathing was gentle - still shallow, but reassuringly regular.

Already, colour was returning to her cheeks, and the pallor which had swamped her was being banished. There was a peaceful calm in the room, as if the air itself had settled to allow her to recover. The horrific torment which had beset Lucius during the purging of the curse lingered in his consciousness, but such was the delight which now pervaded him that it had lost the potent agony. All was well; he knew it. She was back.

Through the night he watched her, slept a little, watched her more. When the thin grey light of morning started to dispel the darkness of night, he still didn't move but remained gazing down at her. He could see how the gaunt lines which had embedded themselves on her face were already diminishing. The hue of her cheeks was by now a faint rose, and her lips were as full and pink as when she had first appeared in his sitting room all that time ago. He couldn't prevent himself leaning down and planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

If he had forsaken great, unimaginable things for her, it was worth it. There was no doubt. He had saved her. But far more significantly, she had saved him. He admitted it to the silence of the room. The visions he had experienced were still remembered, but he had endured them and had endured them well. His love for her had carried them both through.

As had Harry's. Never had Lucius been so grateful for the presence of another person. Never had his perception of someone been so fundamentally put to the test. Lucius surprised himself with the trust he had put in his sworn enemy. He had thought it had been out of necessity. At first, it had, but then, as they were both ripped through the anguish of their own darkness, they had simply become two humans bound into trust and respect by their love for one woman.

Lucius couldn't quite fathom the shift in perception now within him. If his respect for Harry had taken him by surprise, his realisation of love for Hermione had equally yet to be fully reconciled. That it existed, there was no doubt; he had known for some time if he was being honest with himself, but it was only when he knew he was losing her that he had acknowledged it.

It was not his love for her which confused him - such certainty did not lead to confusion - but the fact remained that he had seemingly abandoned his life-long beliefs and principles. If he stopped to consider it would he baulk at the idea? Of course not. He had been choking under the weight of ideal and principle he forced himself to maintain after the war. It had been a falsehood, part of the reason why he had become so isolated and reclusive. In his heart he had known he could not cling to the old beliefs, but he had not had enough faith in himself to let go of all he was familiar with: the only set of moral values he knew. And therefore he had clung to them amidst an otherwise shifting world, shutting out the inevitable momentum of change, retreating further and further into the ghostly remnants of the past. But that change, which he knew was out there, had come crashing into his disappearing world in the shape of this beautiful, brilliant Muggle-born and had pulled him towards salvation.

When the folly of glory had been dangled before him by the curse - glory which had at last, after years of inaccessibility, seemed real and attainable - he had finally and fully seen the truth of what was slipping away from him: not power and triumph, but life in its purest and simplest form - honesty and love.

She had revealed that to him: love for her and acceptance of himself.

The woman in his arms moved a little. It was already a stronger movement than any he had felt in her the previous night. He smiled to himself as she opened her mouth and breathed in an awakening breath of fresh morning air. And after the breath, her full lips remained open and widened further into a yawn.

The yawn was such a simple, base thing, but it filled him with more delight than ever. He exhaled a gentle laugh of happiness.

Hermione's eyes blinked hesitantly against the light but eventually opened. At first they seemed to stare unseeingly into the room, but then her head moved a little, and she looked up into Lucius' eyes.

She smiled softly.

"Good morning." His words felt almost apologetic amidst the silent stillness which had existed.

"Hello." Her voice was stronger than he would have anticipated. She nestled back into his chest. Lucius held her close, not daring to let her go. "You smell nice," she murmured. He smiled and kissed her head again.

Hermione's limbs flexed and she stretched gently. "I feel ... I don't know ..." Her voice trailed off as she struggled to pinpoint the heavy ache still permeating her body. But as she moved tenderly, straightening her arms, she found that the pains were already dwindling. "What time is it?"

"I'm not sure." Lucius answered truthfully. He hadn't thought about time.

"I feel as if I've been asleep for an age."

"You simply slept through the night."

"I ... it's weird ... There was somebody here ..." Her brows uncreased a little as she remembered vague glimpses. "Was Harry here last night?" The incredulity in her voice was evident.

"Yes."

"I ... something to do with me?"

"Hmm."

"I remember ... I remember him being here, but ... I can't recall anything before him leaving. But ... I know something went on ... my head is so full, yet so washed out at the same time, as if it's trying to shut something out of my memory. I ... want to remember ..." She furrowed her brow in an attempt to do so.

"Shh ... not now ... you must recover slowly. You have been very ill, and it will be some time before you are back to full health. You must give yourself time."

She managed to smile at him. In any case, she didn't have the energy to worry about it now. Her stomach rumbled loudly. "God, I'm starving!"

Lucius smiled. "I'm delighted to hear it, my dear. What would you like?"

"Oh, nothing much, maybe some toast and cereal."

"Very well. I won't be long." He raised himself from the bed and walked towards the door. Once there, he stopped and, turning back towards her, crossed over once again to the bed and kissed her. "Don't go away."

Hermione smiled tenderly up at him. "Somehow I think that's unlikely."

Lucius moved swiftly this time out of the room. He hurried down the stairs but was halted briefly in his progress by the bright light which flooded his vision as he moved into the hallway. The star atop the Christmas tree was once again almost blinding in its radiance. Lucius stared at it and felt his heart swell with the same level of intensity.

But awareness of Hermione's needs pulled him back and he continued down the staircase, entering the kitchen to find Grimble sullenly going about his duties.

"Grimble, Miss Granger requires some breakfast. Nothing heavy - some toast and cereal. Thank you." He turned away from his house-elf before stopping himself. Looking back at Grimble, he said genuinely, "Miss Granger has been unwell, Grimble, but you will find that she is restored to her former health."

The elf looked up at him, the look on his face at first as sour as ever. But as Lucius looked down at him, his sneering features softened a little and he inclined his head to his master before resuming his chores.

Lucius returned immediately to Hermione. He found her sitting up in bed, ever more colour restored to her cheeks. He came and sat gently beside her, stroking the hair out of her face.

"I've been trying to remember ..." Her voice trailed off as she struggled to bring clarity to the fog which was tormenting her mind. "It's so hard ... my mind seems to have blocked so much out. I can recall very little for days ... weeks, it seems."

"That is probably best."

"Lucius, please. What happened to me?"

He stopped, looking away. "You were ill ... possessed almost. A great evil was acting upon you. It resulted in your behaviour changing, deeply and profoundly. It was not a happy time for any of us."

"I recall a little ... emotions ... I felt alive, empowered ... I don't know, but also ... so weak and helpless. I can't remember properly."

"The life was being drained from you, but in a way which sometimes led to the illusion of greatness."

"Was I awful?"

"At times."

"And at other times?"

Lucius sighed and turned away. "You became simply very ... passionate, both in temper and physical need."

She frowned in remembrance, snippets returning to her. "Yes ... I think I knew that ... I'm sorry."

"How can you be sorry for something which was no fault of your own?"

"But it must have affected you."

"Your passion was such that it was ... hard to resist."

She looked at him quizzically. Lucius held her stare, his eyes sparking. Then he lowered his gaze quickly, the memories too conflicting, too painful. He could not forget how alive he had felt at those times, how much pleasure they had brought to each other, pleasure which transcended reason. But the cost to them both, which nearly resulted in Hermione losing her life, was more than could be tolerated.

"Lucius ..." Hermione spoke softly, reaching her hand across to take his. "I remember that feeling ... not in thoughts or words, but ... my body remembers ... I remember desire, profound desire which consumed me entirely, and pleasure ..."

She rubbed her thumb over his hand. It was warm and soft, but did not draw out of him that helpless unstoppable lust which had rendered him so out of control. "It cannot be like that again." He spoke quite plainly.

"I know. I wouldn't want it to be. Would you?"

He paused. "No. It was destroying us both. Never has so much been promised and denied me at the same time."

"How do you mean?"

Lucius sighed. He was not sure if it was the right time to go over it, but looking at the open face of the woman beside him, he found himself speaking. She could take it.

"When I was with you, I felt powerful, invincible, everything I had been brought up to believe I could be. You encouraged that, you, or the spirit inhabiting you at the time. You were so compelling, and so, so beautiful, even as your body became more frail. At those times, you were the most exquisite thing imaginable. I had to have you. Always. And I knew that when I possessed your body it would empower me even more, allow me to see what I could achieve.

"But it was all a deceit, a ruse ... nothing was real. If I had continued, you would have died, and I ..." He hung his head.

"What, Lucius?"

"All the power promised me would have meant nothing, would have been useless."

"Why is that?"

He turned to look at her. "Because you would not have been there."

Hermione looked him steadily in the eyes but could feel them pricking with hot tears. Just then, there was a knock at the door and Grimble appeared with a tray of food. Lucius rose swiftly to relieve him of it. They were both grateful for the intrusion to distract from the raw emotion threatening to overwhelm them both.

"Grimble has gone beyond the call of duty once again, more than ever." Lucius smiled as he placed the heaving tray of toast, preserves, a variety of cereal, and an assortment of fruit before her.

"He can be such a star. Remind me to thank him profusely as soon as possible."

"He would appreciate that," Lucius said ruefully.

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Let's just say that your temper was not only directed at me while you were ill."

Hermione closed her eyes regretfully. "Poor Grimble. What must he think of me?"

"Clearly he is relieved that you are better, judging by this selection."

"I'll have a word with him as soon as possible."

"Don't rush. You must allow your body time to recover."

Lucius watched as Hermione ate with a remarkably strong appetite, relishing the flavour of the food as if for the first time. "That's so good," she smiled. "I feel as if I haven't eaten for days." It was closer to the truth than she realised.

"Lucius ... what exactly brought this about?"

"You were cursed." Lucius spoke factually. He knew her fastidious mind would appreciate his honesty.

Hermione looked at him steadily, waiting for further explanation.

"It was what is known in pureblood circles as a Purification Curse but, as I discovered, it is otherwise more aptly termed a Soul-Eating Curse."

She furrowed her brows in horror. "A Soul-Eating Curse? I know about those. They are from an extreme branch of the Dark Arts that had all but died away. Usually they're embedded within objects to work upon a non-pure witch or wizard."

"Yes."

"But ... what ...?"

"The Book of Desire."

Hermione shook her head disbelievingly. "But that was such beautiful book. It brought me ... us ... great pleasure."

"Indeed. But it was designed for use solely by purebloods. If its use was 'tainted' - for want of a better word - by a mud- ... by a non-pure witch or wizard, the curse would be put into effect on them." Lucius couldn't look at her. "And it was a book in my possession, which I allowed to act upon you, albeit unwittingly. For that, I will never forgive myself."

Hermione looked at him with tender love and cupped his face gently. "No. You must never say that."

Silence descended upon them again. Although the memory of her time under the curse was indistinct, she knew how destructive a Soul-Eating Curse was, both to the person directly affected by it and to those around them. As she recalled her knowledge, she turned to him.

"But ... it's virtually impossible to rid anyone of such a curse. I don't know of any cure or counter-curse."

"No."

"But ... here I am."

"Yes," he smiled gently, "here you are."

"So how ...?"

"Enough for now. You must rest. It will take time for you to recover fully, although it's wonderful to see the progress you've already made." Lucius leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

"Why was Harry here?"

"He helped to cure you."

"At your request?"

"Yes." He smiled again and squeezed her hand. "He is a good man."

Hermione could only smile back, tears forming in her eyes. She forced them back. His simple words brought her a rush of joy.

"Try to rest now. I will be back soon to see how you are."

Hermione pouted. "Do I have to stay here all day?"

"Yes."

"Alright, doctor," she smirked.

His mouth turned up at the corners. She was still gripping his hand hard. She leaned forward to kiss him. At first he remained still, not moving into her. There was a sudden lurch inside him, a fearful reminder of what had been. For a moment he was consumed with a terrible dread that it would repeat itself yet again. But as her soft lips touched his, as warm and giving as they had been that initial time in her room, all fears were quashed and he found himself returning the kiss as sweetly and innocently as if they were young lovers together for the first time.

His mouth moved to her ear, running lightly along her smooth cheekbone as it went. He held her head gently and whispered against her ear, "I missed you, my darling ... I missed you so, so much." Holding her head to him, he breathed in the fresh scent of her hair, reminding him of what he had come so close to losing.

"Lucius ..." Hermione sighed his name with longing and brought her hands up his chest, running her fingers around his neck and holding him tight.

Lucius felt himself immediately aroused, not with the uncontrollable violent lust he had become used to, but with loving desire for this woman in his arms again. But he stopped himself. It would have been so easy to take her immediately, but he knew it would be with hasty carelessness. When they came back to each other completely, he wanted it to be at a time when they were both fully aware and ready.

He reached up and pulled her hands away from his neck. "Not now, my love ... there will be time ... time for so much ... not yet ... you are still weak ..."

Still she held him but lowered her head with acquiescence. "I love you," came the soft murmur.

Not _I want you_, but _I love you_.

Lucius felt once again that glow inside, which had been banished of late. He whispered against her ear, "I love you too."

Then before he found himself unable to, he pulled himself to his feet and walked from her.

"Lucius."

He turned at the door.

"What about the book?"

"It must be destroyed."

She frowned regretfully. "But it was so beautiful. In its way, it helped bring us together."

He lowered his gaze, his breathing growing heavier. "It must be destroyed."

Looking at his elegant countenance, Hermione could see in it a determined solemnity that she could not dispute. In that moment she caught a glimpse of what he had suffered for her. She had no memory of what had happened. Lucius had borne both his pain and her own.

"Yes," she concurred.

He raised his eyes to hers again and managed a faint smile. "I'll be back soon. Put it all from your mind for now."

As he closed the door quietly behind him, Lucius glanced back and saw Hermione snuggling down contentedly under the covers.

He was happy again.

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**More soon. x**


	22. Chapter 22

Over the next few days, Lucius ensured Hermione wanted for nothing. Her strength increased rapidly and she was keen to be up and about. At first, Lucius was reluctant, but he acknowledged that his hesitation stemmed more from his own trauma than from hers. He needed time to absorb all that had happened. Indeed, it seemed as if it was he who now bore most of the suffering of the curse. Hermione could remember only snippets of rage and desire. Lucius remembered every detail of the hell he had endured while she had slipped away from him, and the hell he had been cast into while trying to expel the curse.

But every glimpse of her face, every smile she bestowed healed his wounds, pushed his memories to ever-deeper corners of his mind.

Soon, Hermione was able to get up and test out her healing body. Her appetite had recovered and she ate sensibly, starting to fill out the gaunt skeleton she had shrunken into. She and Lucius would walk in the grounds, only for a few minutes to start with, but building up the time and distance with remarkable swiftness. Lucius was amazed, if not in awe, at her strength and determination to recover.

It was now only a few days before Christmas. In their little world at the Manor, shielded from the frantic chaos of the outside world, it had become easy to forget that another life even existed. And so it was with some surprise that they were greeted by a firm knock on the front door one morning.

Hermione started; she was so unused to anyone apart from Lucius, aside from the occasional intervention by Grimble, who seemed to accept her completely since her recovery.

"Wait there," Lucius advised, motioning her to stay seated.

He walked to his front door before Grimble could reach it.

Standing outside was Harry Potter. Lucius knew relief was evident on his face and suspected he was revealing more than a little gladness at the sight of the smiling bespectacled man.

"Lucius, how are you? Sorry not to owl in advance. I've been incredibly busy but had about an hour to spare. I thought I'd pop over to see how you both are."

"Very well, Harry, very well. It's good to see you. Hermione will be delighted. Come in." He opened the door wide and smiled as Harry stepped into his house. The younger wizard couldn't stop a slight smirk of incredulity tickling his visage at the unprecedented situation: Lucius Malfoy welcoming him into his house with open arms and bonhomie.

"Grimble will take your coat. Would you like a drink?"

"Tea if it's going, thanks." Harry was removing the thick coat which protected him against the bite of December. He fixed Lucius with a determined gaze. "How is she?"

Lucius sighed, causing Harry to flinch. Was something still amiss?

"She is ... Hermione: remarkable, all but recovered. When you consider what she went through - how weak her body was - it is extraordinary. She's a stronger person than I could ever hope to be."

"It's rude to talk about someone behind their back."

They spun around. Hermione was standing behind them in the hallway, tall and straight, a broad, thrilled smile on her face at the sight of her old friend. Harry beamed and rushed over to her, "'Mione." Clasping her into him with a thrilled laugh, he held her tight.

"Oh, Harry, it's so wonderful to see you. How are you?"

He laughed. "God, I'm alright. How are you, more to the point? You look fantastic."

She laughed again. "I feel fantastic - all the better for having you here. Can you stay for a bit?"

"Not long, I'm afraid. I've got to be back in an hour."

Lucius was behind them, ushering them through into the sitting room. Grimble arrived with a tray of tea and cake soon after.

"I couldn't not see you though - I won't be able to come at Christmas - Molly's already got a full schedule of games and activities planned for us all."

"Christmas! God, I'd forgotten. What day is it today?" Hermione was aghast. She had bought no presents, written no cards, seen nobody. Guilt and responsibility threatened to crush her happiness.

"It's the twenty second."

"The twenty second? You're joking! What am I going to do? I've done nothing." She stood suddenly as if she was about to rush off shopping immediately. Lucius rose to hold her back, soothing her.

"Don't 's nothing with which to concern yourself. Just send messages saying you've been snowed under with work. Or if you prefer ... we can go shopping together to a Muggle town."

She smiled with relief. "Can we do that? I'd like that."

"Of course." He kissed the top of her forehead.

Harry felt as if he was intruding on a deeply private moment. He poured himself some tea before continuing."What are your plans over Christmas?"

Hermione laughed and sat down again. "Well, err, as you can imagine, I hadn't really thought much about it. I just want to ... stay here." She glanced up at Lucius, tall and proud before her. He smiled gently, for her eyes only.

"I thought you might," Harry continued, "but I have to mention it, you know what Molly's like ... there is an invitation to The Burrow should you want it."

"I think I'll decline this year," she smirked before her smile faded with sudden concern. "What have you told them?"

"Nothing. They know you've been working at the Manor and that it's a very long and difficult job. Your absence and silence have been interpreted simply as your usual meticulous and diligent approach to getting a job done properly, no more. I said I'd visited you and that Lucius had come to the Ministry to ask my advice on particular items. A few heads were raised that day you came striding into my office." He glanced across at the blond man with a wry smile. Lucius' eyebrows rose in remembrance. He had been so desperate that day. "Ginny has been asking after you ... I think she'd like to hear from you ... and Ron ..."

"How is he?"

"Good, actually. New woman. Since September, I think. They seem to work together."

Hermione smiled. "That's nice. I'm pleased for him. I'll be in touch. They don't know about ... me and Lucius, do they?"

"Of course not! Bloody hell, Mione! I'll leave that to you! But, y'know, people are more open-minded than we sometimes think. You two should start getting out, being seen around. It'll do you both good."

Hermione and Lucius glanced at each other. Could they imagine a future outside the Manor?

"I'm afraid I've also come with a message for you from Kingsley. He says he appreciates the enormity of your task but needs to present the results of your work to the Wizengamot in January. He was a little concerned that you hadn't been to the Ministry for so long, but I assured him that I'd seen you and that things were progressing well."

Hermione laughed with sudden despair. She hadn't thought about the library for days, weeks ... she had no idea how long it had been. "The library! I must admit, it's been a while. But I'd nearly finished." Her face blanched as she realised what she had actually discovered. "What am I going to tell Kingsley? If I report the book he may arrest Lucius and send him back to Azkaban."

Lucius' face drained suddenly of all vitality. Hermione reached over to clasp his hand.

"Where's the book now?" Harry asked.

Lucius glanced over to a cabinet. Harry stood quickly and opened it. Inside was the thick, leather-bound volume responsible for their torment and misery: The Book of Desire.

"You must destroy it now. If it doesn't exist, there's nothing to report to Kingsley - is there?"

"I was going to ..." Lucius' voice almost stuttered.

Harry bent down and lifted it out. Immediately, the man felt magic pulse up his arm, strong and tempting. A gasp was pulled into him. Walking slowly, he brought the book over and placed it on a small table. Hermione flinched, tightening her grip on Lucius. The sight of the book disgusted him. He withdrew his wand immediately.

"Wait!" Harry's hand shot up. "We mustn't do anything suddenly. We must make sure we use the correct spell, otherwise it may not work." He was staring down at the book; a sudden shift had taken hold of him and his face now contained a look of wonder. His hands ran over the cover, his fingers caressing the patterns adorning it. "So beautiful ..." The others watched in stunned silence, almost immobilised by the object before them, as Harry lifted the heavy cover and looked upon the images within.

Harry's eyes became aligh; a smile of supreme satisfaction captured his lips. He turned the pages reverently. "Such an exquisite thing ... so human, full of such desire ..."

His head moved to Hermione. A burning surge swept through him. He had felt it before, upstairs in her bedroom. Once again he saw her naked before him, her limbs reaching for him. His groin stirred. Why had he not noticed her beauty before? His hand rested on an image of a couple: the woman on her hands and knees while her lover entered her from behind, his eyes gazing on the sight of his erection ploughing into her. Harry's reached towards the woman beside him. "Hermione ..."

His fingers were on her hand. Unwittingly, unable to comprehend it or stop, Hermione allowed her fingers to be entwined in his. And then he pulled her, back towards the book, towards the page. Harry's eyes were sparking, ablaze with a longing Hermione had never seen before. It was at once terrifying and captivating.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

With a sudden force which made them both jump, the book flew out from Harry's grasp and landed on the floor a short distance from him. Hermione darted her head round. Lucius was standing, his wand held outstretched before him, his breathing heavy.

Hermione rushed over to Lucius who enclosed her tightly in his arms.

Harry's mouth was dry, his heart pounding. He glanced around the room as if not entirely aware what he was doing there. "What the hell was that all about? What happened to me?"

"The book must be destroyed immediately." Lucius strode over to it as it lay defiantly on the floor before them and picked it up. "Come." He marched from the room, leaving them to follow him. He led them out of the house and onto a small patch of lawn below the terrace. Hermione kept pace. Harry stumbled, still thrown by the dark magic which had so suddenly and potently tempted him.

Lucius stood above the book, staring down at it, his face twisted with revulsion. Hermione crept up, holding his arms gently. "It's been in your family for so long."

"Yes, and it nearly destroyed what is left of it."

"Draco may want it. As long as you explain that it must only be used by purebloods ..."

"No. You saw what happened just then in no time at all. If it can work on Potter, it can work on anyone." His breathing was deep, his limbs coiled, desperate to destroy the thing once and for all.

Hermione glanced down, her face heavy with remorse. "Such pleasure ..."

He spun to her, his eyes ablaze. "No, no ... you don't remember ... you didn't see what it did to you ... what it did to me, to him ... _pleasure!?_ I have never, never been in such a dark, desolate and agonising place as the one to which this thing sent me. The things I saw, the things I saw you do, the people you ..." There were tears in his eyes as his hand came up to stroke along her face. "Hermione ... my Hermione ... say it ..."

Her face grew wet as her eyes shed her own despair: despair, longing and love combined in a raw, concentrated desperation. "Yours ... yours, my darling ..."

"Lucius, Hermione ... we do this together."

They turned. Harry stood behind them, tall and determined at last.

With a final look at her lover, Hermione withdrew her wand too and held it firmly in her grasp, pointing to the book.

The three of them brought their wands down, and with a look of mutual acknowledgement, shouted the spell simultaneously.

_"Obliteratio obscurum!"_

Red flames shot out of their wands and impacted on the book. Immediately a hole burned through the centre, but then the object seemed to resist, and through the sound of the fire propelling itself from the three wands, there seemed to come a terrible screaming, as if the air itself was splitting in two. The power required from the three increased and they doubled their efforts, their faces straining against the agony.

And then, at last, the book succumbed, and the parchment and leather were consumed irrevocably by the pitiless flames. All that remained was a blackened, smoking hole in the ground.

For a time, the three of them could only stand limply as their bodies recovered from the physical and mental exertion.

Lucius suddenly turned to Hermione, gripping her with caring strength. "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yes. That was hard, but now it's over ... I feel better than ever." She turned to Harry. "Are you OK?"

"Yes." He did not look at them, but hung his head, clearly shamed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be silly. It was perhaps best that that happened - a reminder of what we all went through - and what could have been again."

"Let's go back inside. It's finished. We will think no more on it." Lucius guided Hermione gently inside. She didn't need his support, but his firm presence stirred in her a warm desire she had forgotten about. Not the desperate lust so quickly roused in Harry through the book, but a tender longing for physical love and companionship. She and Lucius had not made love since her recovery - it hadn't seemed necessary or right. Now that the book was gone, for the first time she allowed her mind and body to turn towards her erotic need once again. She clung ever tighter to her lover and felt his strong fingers clasped under her ribs. Lucius was as aware as she of the reinforced connection. As he felt the rise of her breath under his fingertips, the energy contained in them transmitted into him, infusing in him the memory of pure longing she had ignited on first entering his house.

"I have to get back," sighed Harry when they had returned inside. "Again, I'm sorry that I caused so much turmoil. That wasn't quite my intention!"

"Think no more of it, Harry. It had to be done. Your experience made us get on with it." Lucius spoke with clear honesty.

Harry leaned in to kiss Hermione on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, Hermione. I hope it's a good one."

"It will be."

Harry shook hands with the blond man standing beside her. "Lucius."

"Goodbye, Harry. Thank you for coming over."

Hermione looked at them both. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. They sounded more like golfing partners than wizards who ten years previously would have happily crucioed each other to within an inch of their lives.

After watching Harry disappearing into the gathering gloom of evening, they shut the door and retreated inside.

"Thank Merlin that's over," sighed Lucius, slumping into the sofa. "I wasn't sure when I was going to get it done."

"Lucius ..."

"Hmm?"

"What happened to Harry just then ... and what you said to me outside ... is that what it was like? Is that what I went through ... what you went through?"

At first he didn't reply, but sat with his head resting on the back of the sofa, eyes closed.

"Far worse."

Hermione's head fell. "I'm sorry."

His eyes darted open and he looked at her with a searing certainty. "You don't have to be sorry. You never have to be sorry. Ever. Remember that. For all your power as a witch, for all we could be together with our magic ... you know none of it matters. I have always clung onto it, searched for it in vain. And now you, who encapsulate magical excellence more than anyone, have shown me once again who I truly am, who we all are. You have revealed to me the remarkable brilliance of simply being human. Life is too precious to forget it."

She nestled against him. His hand came up and stroked her hair, slowly, calming and soothing away the remnants of any lingering shadows. They remained like that for some time, until the only light in the room came from the few candles which had nearly burnt themselves out.

"Do you remember that time you fell asleep in here?" he said.

"Hm."

"So warm, so trusting. I wanted to touch you. I wanted to touch you so much."

"I woke up startled. I didn't know what was going on."

"That shamed me. At that moment I was to you ... who I had been before. I realised the terror I had evoked. I had disturbed your perfect peace. It made me wretched."

The silence calmed and soothed the air around them further.

"You can touch me now."

Hermione turned her head to look up at him. Gazing upon her, his words were fulfilled. He saw in her all he had hoped he might have been in life. All his aspirations, his longing for glory and power, all meant nothing and yet everything: suddenly and profoundly here in his arms, pure and simple. Pure ... she was the purest thing he could imagine.

Without being aware consciously of doing it, his head descended to hers and he kissed her.

Eventually, her arms slipped up around his shoulders to encircle his neck, ensuring he didn't leave. Together they stood, still kissing, and walked blindly out of the room, their mutual desire for each other enabling them not to stumble. Lucius' body felt heavy, dense, but not guided by the tormented lust of before; the ache in his lower abdomen was insistent but tolerant, expectant but patient. His hands began to rid her of her clothing, and hers of his. As they moved up the stairs, they left a trail of shirts, belts, shoes in their wake.

By the time they reached the bedroom they were both completely naked.

And then once inside the room, Lucius stood her in the middle of the room. Hermione's skin was burning for his touch, but gone was the time when she had berated him for any hesitation, insisting on him pleasing her hard and fast. She waited as the man circled her, a look of adoring gratitude on his face.

Lucius gazed upon her. Her body had filled out again, the rises and falls of her curves just as he remembered from those first times. She was his once more. He opened his mouth to speak but found for the first time in his long life that he was at a loss for words.

Instead, he moved into her, cupping her face tenderly, and kissed her once again.

And there she was, her silken limbs encircling him, drawing him deep towards her.

Where did she end and he begin? It didn't matter.

Together they moved to the bed. He knew he was large and hard; he could feel himself leaking against her smooth skin. She rubbed against the head and drew a gasping sigh from him. It had been so long, so long ... and the last times he had been within her were a deceit, a sham, not worthy of being counted in the catalogue of their joining.

And now she lay before him, her eyes seeking him out, the heat from her body rising to meet him, drawing her scent with it, that scent which had followed him relentlessly since she had first arrived. It poured into him, inhabiting him. He would inhabit her.

Locking eyes with her, he pushed inside, just a little, almost surprised to find her body so acquiescent to him. Hermione moaned: a small sigh of acceptance and adoration. She moved down, drawing him further into her. At once he pushed deeper, squeezing into her slick tight heat, heat that had been denied him, that he relied on to warm the coldness which had threatened to freeze his soul.

Not taking his eyes from hers, he pushed fully up into her and, once there, began to move, so slowly as to be almost imperceptible at first, rejoicing in being back where he belonged.

"That's it, that's it, my darling, my darling ..." Her words came out in a long sigh of bliss, coupled with the rising moan of her pleasure; she was unaware almost of saying them, but to Lucius it signified the build towards his perfect happiness: his pleasure and hers.

He couldn't restrain himself much longer and reached between her legs, desperate to witness her succumbing to all he could give.

At the merest touch of his fingers on her clit, Hermione froze, her breath caught in her throat. It was all it took. She gripped his shoulders and stared unblinking into his eyes, her mouth open in astonishment.

Lucius thrust fully along her, swift and deep, and with his push came his ecstasy. His seed exploded out just as she shattered upon him, and her body gripped him in the spasms of rapture. The wrenching cry of pure pleasure which rose from her encircled him, pulling him yet deeper into her, binding him to her. Lucius could only join it with a heaving groan of his own as he felt himself emptying within her.

Their bodies quietened and slackened, damp and luxuriant.

And they slept.


	23. Chapter 23

Hermione awoke the next day to breakfast in bed, not served by Grimble but Lucius himself.

"You don't need to do this, you know. I'm perfectly capable of making my way downstairs."

"I know you are. See it as a pre-Christmas treat."

She smiled and took a sip of orange juice as he sat down next to her. "Where would you like to do your shopping?"

"Were you serious about that?"

"Of course."

Hermione laughed aloud. "You know, I'd love to go to Bath. I haven't been there for ages."

Lucius opened his mouth to retort. His memories of their recent trip to the city were still branded on his mind. But looking at her wide, innocent face, it was clear Hermione had no recollection of the visit. He frowned, unsure whether he could tolerate being back there. But drawing himself up, he resolved to face the demons head on and lay them to rest.

"Alright." He stroked her arm. "When do you want to leave?"

"Eleven? I'll write and owl some cards first. That way my guilt will at least be eased a little."

"You're far too conscientious."

"Well, we must try to be back by early afternoon. I must get back to the library. I'd nearly finished. It'll only be a few more days."

Lucius looked away, his face suddenly distant.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me, Lucius."

After a short silence he spoke softly, "You've nearly finished your task."

"Yes. It's taken me bloody long enough!"

"And then ...?"

"Then, what?"

Realisation dawned on Hermione. He was worried she would leave him, go back to her apartment, to her old life. She reached over and took his head in her hands, turning it to face her.

"I'm not leaving you."

He smiled, finally able to meet her eyes. She continued, "Despite my best intentions, Mr Malfoy, I find myself rather liking it here."

Lucius kissed her gently. "I can't imagine the place without you anymore."

"Well, you don't have to. Ermintrude's happy here, and so am I."

"And your friends?"

She hesitated only briefly. "Harry's perfectly alright about it. Ron, well, I shouldn't think he'll be thrilled, but ... what business is it of his anyway ... and the others ... Harry's right ... people are more open-minded than we think. It's Draco I'm more worried about, to be honest."

"Hm." She could tell Lucius shared her concern, but he stood swiftly, shaking off his thoughts. "I'll leave you to get dressed and write your cards. We'll leave just before eleven."

Hermione smiled after him, then pushed the matter out of her mind by rising and getting on with her jobs. She wrote the necessary cards swiftly and arranged for Grimble to owl them during the day. By eleven she was downstairs ready to go.

"Everyone's getting Muggle presents from me this year. Do you think they'll mind?"

"Why should they? Muggle craftsmen can make fine items."

"God, Lucius, did you just really say that? Never in a million years did I think I'd hear you complimenting anything made by Muggle hands!"

"We live and learn, my dear," he crooned with a smirk. With that he offered her his arm and together they disapparated from the Manor.

On arriving in Bath, Lucius couldn't initially move. He stood, stock still, the memory of their previous visit flooding back. But glancing at the woman beside him, radiant in the crisp December sunlight, his mind was immediately eased and, holding her hand, he led her through the streets.

Hermione had never been one for dawdling when shopping. She had a purpose and she fulfilled it. Armed with a keen sense of what would work for her friends and family, she bought things decisively and swiftly. Lucius hung back, amused by her determination. She had finished before half past twelve and turned to him with a beaming smile. "Time for lunch!"

They ate in a smart bistro near the Abbey, chatting freely and warmly, reminiscing about Ministry officials familiar to them both. Lucius even offered up some commentary on the personalities of some of the Death Eaters during the war. At those points, Hermione listened silently, granting him his memories. She was pleased that he was willing to talk about a time she knew was so painful for him. If they were to have any sort of future together, she had to know and accept him for all he was, past and present.

When they returned to the Manor in the early afternoon, it didn't take long for Hermione to address the issue of her work.

With a sigh, she glanced up the stairs. "I'd better get on with this. It's been preying on my mind."

"Would you like some tea?"

"That'd be nice. I'll see you in a moment."

Lucius watched as she made her way up the stairs and disappeared around the corner to the library.

Hermione entered the room she had grown to love so much but had of late been so alien to her.

It was still and silent, as if awaiting her return. Dust danced in the shafts of sunlight falling through the windows. It was hard to believe it was only a few days since anyone had been in it; the library itself seemed shamed of what had happened within it, retreating back into its dark oak panelling. Hermione walked slowly towards the desk. It was not how she had left it; instead it was strewn with burnt out candles and parchments, remnants of Lucius' late night desperation as he sought a cure for her curse.

She ran her hands over the documents, noting the meticulous care with which he had searched. His fluid script ran across pages and pages of parchments, with arrows, amendments, notes and cross-references drawn with precision and detail.

With a sigh, Hermione carefully gathered it all up and placed it neatly on a free shelf, then, looking back out into the room, she reached for the volume that she had left off from and restarted her work.

Lucius brought tea quietly and quickly a short while later, but, not wishing to disturb her, he kissed her head gently and left her to her work.

It was after seven o'clock when she at last finished. Now that the end was in sight, she'd worked more quickly than she could previously remember and estimated that she would need only another day. She would be finished by Christmas.

She spent the evening magically wrapping her presents and after a light supper they went to bed, where they made love as peacefully and contentedly as the previous evening.

The star on top of the tree blazed more brightly than ever.

The next morning, Christmas Eve, dawned bright and cold. Hermione blinked against the intrusion of the light and turned over to feel for Lucius. He wasn't there. She was disappointed, but glancing at her clock realised that she'd slept late. It was after nine-thirty. Her energy suddenly restored, she threw on her silk dressing gown and ran down the stairs, humming Muggle carols she remembered from her early childhood.

She could hear voices from the sitting room and supposed Lucius was talking to Grimble.

Still humming the tune of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen', she walked happily into the room and came face to face with Draco Malfoy.

Hermione froze, her stomach plummeting from within her, aware that her face clearly showed shock. Her expression was reflected entirely in the face of the blond man before her.

"Granger." Draco could say no more, he was so startled at finding his old enemy standing in his father's sitting room.

"Draco. Hello." It was only then, when he moved, that Hermione became aware of Lucius standing behind his son. The older wizard took a step forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut him off before any words emerged.

"What the hell are you doing here?" His words were spoken fast: a tense bark.

"I ... I'm working here. I'm documenting the library for the Ministry."

Draco sneered with incredulity. "In your dressing gown?"

Hermione glanced down at her body, drawing the thin silk material around her.

Lucius moved to stand beside her, not touching but looking down at her. He turned and addressed his son.

"Draco, perhaps you should sit down."

Draco's head darted to his father and a look of panicked confusion captured his face. Hermione couldn't look at either of them.

"What's going on?" Draco's eyes flitted from one to the other.

"Sit down, Draco."

"No, Father ... tell me. Tell me now."

Hermione felt a warm caress on her fingers. Glancing down, she saw that Lucius had taken her hand in his.

"Hermione and I are in a relationship."

Draco let out an odd noise, halfway between a grunt and a laugh. Then there was silence. Hermione could hear only her blood pounding through her veins.

"I don't believe you."

"You will have to believe me."

The younger man was silent, his face reflecting his incredulity. He shook his head in disbelief. "That's not possible. It's not possible."

Draco's eyes shifted to the clasped fingers of his father and Hermione Granger. He was clearly in a state of blind shock at the revelation. "What ... I don't ... when did ... you had no one, Father, you wanted no one."

"True."

"You've just been stuck in this fucking house. Shutting yourself away."

"You hardly ever came to see me."

"Yeah, well ... what did you bloody expect? All you could relate to was ... all this ..." He gestured around him. " ... the dead past. I'd given up on you ... bloody given up on you."

Lucius let a faint smile cross his face before it faded fast. "Exactly."

"What ...?"

"She did not give up on me. She hasn't given up on me."

Draco stared hard at Hermione. "Granger. Is this true?" he asked in all seriousness, somehow expecting her to deny it all.

Hermione lifted her head and met his eyes. "Yes."

And then white anger expelled the disbelief. Draco's fists suddenly clenched; his face twisted in rage. He stepped into them. "You're after his money, you fucking whore. You're after his fucking money, bitch!"

"Draco." Lucius stepped immediately between them and grasped his son's arms, his breathing rapid and tight. "You will never, _never _speak to Hermione in that way."

For a moment she feared the two would strike each other. Draco's face was gaunt with anger, every fibre in his being straining against the truth. Lucius' nostrils flared, his eyes wide and bright with disdain. Then with fierce determination, Draco heaved his father off and took a step back, shaking his head unstoppably. His eyes were red and burning, almost as if tears were forming in them.

"Have you forgotten everything? Everything you taught me? I don't understand ... I don't understand ... she's a Mudblood, father ... a _Mudblood_ ... what are you doing to us? _What are you doing to us?"_

"I'm saving us, Draco. Our family was a remnant of what it had been, brought about only by us. She has redeemed me, us ... and she has been through a lot lately ... as have I. It's time to move on, Draco. And I will do so with Hermione." Lucius' voice was remarkably straight and plain.

Draco sneered, still clearly in denial, searching for answers. "Why didn't you get out of this damn house? You could have found someone else ... out there ... not her ... _this_ ... You don't want this ... do you?" He received no answer and shook his head desperately. "I can't relate to you anymore ... I can't deal with this."

Draco hung his head and for a time the only noise in the room was the sound of his ragged breathing. At length he stared up at Hermione. "And what've you got to say for yourself?"

Hermione looked at him steadily. "I love your father deeply, and I only ask his love in return."

Draco's face twisted again, but the malicious anger had changed back into aggrieved confusion. He stood futilely, staring incredulously at the site of his father and arch-enemy clasping hands before him. His head shook a little, his eyes narrowed, but his anger seemed to have dissipated.

And then, with a sniff of surrender, he held his hands out to the side. "What can I do? What can I fucking do? If you want to ... do this ... what can I fucking do to stop you, Father?"

"You can do nothing. And I ask neither your acceptance nor your understanding for now. But I will request your tolerance. Do not do anything to make life difficult for Hermione or you will regret it."

Draco glared at his father. Lucius held his stare, his eyes dark and piercing, his nostrils flared. Again, Draco flapped his hands to the side. It was clear he would not cross his father directly.

"I thought the house looked different."

His understatement brought a wry smile to Hermione's face, but she hid it behind her tumbling hair. His words signified the start of a tenuous acceptance, or at least an awareness that their relationship was real.

The three of them stood, silent and unmoving, adjusting to the new dynamic between them.

Once again, Draco looked up at his father and asked suddenly, "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

Draco's lips pursed. His body was still tense; he seemed unsure where to look. His right forefinger came up suddenly and pointed directly at Hermione. "You will take nothing. Nothing, do you hear me? None of this is yours, none of it. Do you hear me, Granger?" His finger jabbed his words with bitter sharpness into her.

"That's not why I'm here, Draco. Even you know me better than that."

He sneered again, but she saw the slight reddening on his pale cheekbones, belying his acknowledgement.

Draco stood tall but unable to look either Hermione or his father in the eye.

Then with a sudden awkward bend, he picked up a wrapped package lying on the sofa behind him. He held it out to his father. "This is for you, for Christmas." His words were mumbled almost inaudibly.

"Thank you, Draco. I've transferred the usual into your account, and ..." Lucius moved to a cabinet and took out another gift, crossing back and presenting it to his son. "For you and Astoria."

"Thanks." He took the present hurriedly and turned away as if to leave. "You know, Father. I was looking forward to coming over here today. I had some news for you, but this has kind of ... changed things ..."

Lucius took a step in. "What news?"

Draco shook his head. "Suppose I'll have to tell you now. The rest of the world seems to know. I'm surprised you don't, but then ... you don't get out much, do you?"

"Tell me."

"Astoria is ... _we_ ... are having a baby."

Lucius' face visibly relaxed and a smile captured his mouth. "Draco, that's wonderful. I'm thrilled, thrilled for you both, for the whole family." He took a step into his son, as if about to embrace him, but Draco stepped further towards the door.

"Yeah, well ... she's due in June."

"Congratulations, Draco. I'm delighted for you and your wife. Has she been feeling alright?" Hermione volunteered, her own maternal instincts overriding the tension wrought earlier.

Draco's face twisted, preparing to snarl at her inquiry, but as he thought over her words he allowed himself to relax instead and eventually shrugged non-commitally. "Yeah, she's better now. Felt a bit dodgy early on, but she's fourteen weeks now, so it's easier."

"Do give her my best wishes," said Lucius.

Draco nodded slowly. "I will. Well ..." His hand was on the door handle. "I'll go now. I'll, um, see you in the New Year, Father."

"Goodbye, Draco. Have a good Christmas."

"Yeah ..." After mumbling the hollow word, he dropped his head and slipped from the room.

After his departure Lucius and Hermione stood together, not speaking, granting themselves the time to adjust.

"Well ... that went well."

Hermione glanced at the wizard beside her, her eyebrow raised in amazement at his words. Lucius looked back at her, almost shell-shocked.

And then a laugh spluttered out of her, uncontrollably, bringing with it the tension and fraught anxiety which had been stoppered in during Draco's time in the house.

"If that's your idea of 'going well' then ..." She sank onto the sofa, still laughing. Lucius moved to sit beside her.

"I'm glad it's done."

"Done?"

"Telling him. There's clearly some way to go, but ... it's a start. Believe me, he took it better than I'd anticipated. If you knew my son ..."

"Oh, we've had our moments."

Lucius glanced at her before exhaling a smirk. "I think I probably knew that."

"But, how about that - you're going to be a grandfather! That's really fantastic, Lucius, in anyone's books. Congratulations!" She leaned in to kiss him.

"A grandfather ... " Lucius was smiling slightly but she could tell he was contemplating the reality of his ageing.

She kissed him once again before turning away. "I have to get those presents to my friends. I'll just apparate, but I would like to spend some time with them. I suppose I should ... tell them."

Lucius glanced at her but said nothing. With a sight, Hermione continued. "Ginny hasn't seen me for ages."

"Or Weasley."

She looked at him in surprise. "Does that bother you?"

"What?"

"That I will see Ron?

"Why should it?"

"Well, it shouldn't ... but the way you said that ..."

"I don't imagine this news will be particularly welcome to him."

"Well, he'll just have to ... get used to it."

"Is he likely to make trouble for you?"

"No ... no, I shouldn't think so." A terrible thought crossed her mind that he might.

"If he does, I shall ensure he regrets it."

She stared at him hard. "Lucius ..."

"What?"

"Don't say things like that."

"I mean it."

"I don't want you to hurt Ron! Or Draco for that matter - you said the same to him earlier."

"I didn't say I would hurt Weasley. I simply said he would regret causing you any pain. The same goes for Draco."

"For God's sake, don't jump to conclusions! Ron may be perfectly fine about it."

He sneered. "I doubt that somehow."

"Lucius. It doesn't matter what he thinks. We haven't been together for over a decade."

"Yes, but ... I can imagine you can be hard to get out from under one's skin."

She smiled. "I never want to get out from under your skin."

"Quite right too."

Hermione stood. "I'd better go. I'll try to be back by nine, ten at the latest."

He rose to kiss her. "Take care. Just ... don't linger."

"No, I won't. That won't be good for anyone."

And with a final kiss she left the room.


	24. Chapter 24

Hermione approached Ginny and Harry's house without her usual sense of anticipation that Christmas Eve.

Clutching the presents in her hand, she was acutely aware of their meagre appearance. Her feet bore her up the steps towards the door, but her heart was pounding so fiercely that it practically convinced her to turn and run.

She almost did. But just as sense deserted her, folly was foiled by the door opening and Ginny standing in the warm light which flooded from it.

"Hermione! I thought I heard someone out here. We'd almost given up hope of seeing you. Come in, come in. Shit, hurry up, it's bloody cold tonight." And before she could focus properly, Hermione found herself being bundled into the familiar cosiness of Harry and Ginny's cottage.

Harry's accumulation of wealth in the aftermath of the war had meant he and Ginny could buy a beautiful eighteenth century cottage in Richmond, an exclusive town on the outskirts of London. It was called a cottage, but it was in truth large and sprawling, the low ceilings adding to the charm but not detracting from the considerable size.

Ginny continued to push Hermione through into the warm kitchen, where a large pan sat bubbling on the Aga, its welcoming aroma diffusing into the air around them. "Look who I found! And we thought she was ignoring us!"

Three further pairs of eyes turned to note her arrival: those of Harry Potter, George Weasley and Ron.

"Hey, 'Mione!" George stood immediately and came to clasp her in a bear hug. "Long time no see. Harry said you weren't going to make it to the Burrow this year, so it's bloody good to see you."

Hermione smiled warmly at George before turning to Harry. "Hi."

He returned her smile softly. "Hello, you. How are things?"

"Good."

Hermione moved around. Ron had stood and approached her. "Alright, Mione? Good to see you." He reached in for a wary hug. Since their split, despite the lengthy passage of time, any physical contact was tentative and awkward.

"Hi, Ron. I'm really well, thanks. You?"

"Yeah, not so bad."

"Do you want some soup, Mione? It's just about ready," Ginny asked over her shoulder from the stove.

Hermione hesitated, her fingers running cautiously through her hair.

"Go on, woman," chided George. "Look at you! You need fattening up - you're all skin and bone."

Hermione smiled wearily. "Alright then. Thanks. I, err ... brought you all these."

She sat down at the table and placed the presents before her.

"Thanks, Mi. I think there's some bit of tat lying around for you somewhere too," George grinned at her. She laughed back, but the usual relaxed atmosphere was strangely lacking.

There was a moment of silence which threatened to grow awkward. Ron's abrupt interjection didn't ease Hermione's discomfort.

"Harry says you've been working for Lucius Malfoy."

"Not working for him." Hermione glanced at Harry. He looked back at her, his face set straight.

"So ... what then?" It was clear Ron didn't like the idea.

"I was asked by Kingsley to go and document his library to find any Dark books."

"You've been there a while now. You haven't been round the Ministry for ages."

"No. It's taken a long time."

"Finished?"

"Just about."

"Thank Merlin for that. Bet you couldn't wait to get out of that bloody house. Bloody hell. Do you remember what we all went through there? What the hell was it like going back?"

"It was okay actually." Her head was down, but she spoke clearly.

"You must be kidding, Mione. You were tortured in that place. I can't believe you could bear to be back at all," Ginny said, dishing up the soup.

"It's a beautiful house. It's not the fault of the house that all those awful things went on there."

Ron sniffed. "Rather you than me. I'd like to see the bloody place burned to the ground."

"I've loved spending time there."

Ron's mouth gaped in disbelief. "_Loved_ spending time there?"

"Yes."

Her ex-boyfriend's arms were crossed and his head was shaking slightly.

"And what about long-haired Lucius, Mione?" grinned George. "Never see him around these days. Some people say he's turned into a bit of a weirdo, hiding away in the Manor."

"He prefers to stay at home, that's true."

Ginny had by now served the food and joined them at the table. "Did he treat you alright?"

"Yes."

Harry coughed on his first mouthful. "Sorry." He hammered his chest hard. "Pepper."

"What, so, you like, got on okay?" questioned George.

"Yes."

There was silence as they sipped their soup, apart from the occasional clink of metal on china.

"We've become quite close."

The clink of metal stopped.

Hermione stared into her bowl but knew all eyes had turned to her.

"How close?" Ron's voice was low and cold.

Hermione took three breaths.

"We're in a relationship."

Silence.

"Well fuck me."

Hermione looked at George. His eyes held a mixture of horrified surprise and twinkling amusement.

Ginny's jaw hung so low she resembled a caricature of herself. Her spoon dangled from her hand and soup dripped unnoticed from it onto her lap.

The thundering silence was broken suddenly by Ron pushing back his chair and standing to march from the room.

Hermione glanced at Harry, who reached across and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

"Did you know about this?" George asked him, an excited lilt to his voice.

"Yes."

"How's that?"

Harry inhaled deeply, not sure what to say.

Hermione intervened. "Harry had to come to the Manor to help sort some books out. There was no point in keeping it from him." It was virtually the truth.

"You kept that quiet." Ginny glared at her husband, her arms crossed.

"It wasn't up to me to tell you, was it? I wasn't going to betray Hermione's trust," Harry countered.

"God, Mione. You could have let me know sooner."

"I'm sorry, Gin. It's all been a bit of shock to me too, I suppose. And I didn't know how you'd take it."

"Yeah, well ... shock is the right bloody word."

"Well ... how long've you been together?" George was maintaining his air of calm curiosity.

"Several weeks now."

"_Lucius Malfoy_, Hermione?" Ginny frowned in disbelief.

"I know. But ...he's extraordinary and ..."

"Go on."

"Well, you know how disillusioned I was earlier in the year. I really didn't know if I could stick it out at the Ministry or even in this country. Life was just so suffocating."

"What ... and the fragrant conviviality of Malfoy Manor allows you to breathe does it?"

Hermione stared hard at her friend. Ginny's bitter words cut her.

"Yes, Ginny, it does. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but ... you'll just have to accept. He's a very different person now. Believe me, it took a long time for us to ... become aware. But he is ... remarkable. We just work together. I can't say anymore now, but, please, just ..."

Ginny sighed. "You can't deny us a bit of time to process it, Mione. I mean ... bloody hell!"

Hermione raised her eyes to her warily, but eventually Ginny managed a watery smile of resignation, which she returned.

George leaned into her. "But you're Muggle-born. I mean, I'm surprised he didn't curse you as soon as you set foot over his threshold."

"Yeah, well, so was I to start with, and so was he probably, but ..." She shrugged, not sure how to continue without going into personal detail.

Just then Ginny glanced around with sudden awareness. "Where's Ron?"

"I'll go." Hermione stood quickly. She found Ron in the garden, leaning against the back wall of the house.

He barely looked at her as she approached.

"Please don't let this affect you, Ron."

He sniffed derisively.

"He's a very different person to what he used to be. You'll just have to accept that."

"Nothing to do with me, Hermione. You can shag who you want. Even fucking Death Eaters."

"Don't be like that. That was all so long ago."

"Some things can't be forgotten, Mione ... or forgiven. I thought we agreed on that."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but stopped herself. "I'm not going to talk about it now. We'll only end up shouting. He treats me very well."

Ron swayed with a sneer. "Oh, please."

"Please don't let this get to you over Christmas. I wanted to tell you in person before you found out another way."

"And what about Draco? Does he know?"

"Yes. Only since this morning."

"Oh well - you're his step-mum now! You can have lots of little cosy heart-to-hearts. Reminisce about old times! If you're lucky, Luci babes might even let you have a threesome!"

"Oh, Ron, stop it! Don't be so bloody awful." She moved away from him. He stood kicking the ground, arms crossed. "I'm going now. There's a present for you on the table. I hope you have a good Christmas. Goodbye, Ron."

She turned to step inside.

"Are you happy?" His words were shot sharply into the cold night air.

Turning back, she looked into his eyes. "Yes."

Ron's lips pursed and his head nodded almost imperceptibly. "Bye, Hermione. Happy Christmas."

Hermione managed a faint smile and walked back to the others. The other three were standing in the kitchen, looking a little lost in their own home.

She came and stood beside them, her arms rising to the sides. "I'm sorry to shock you. But ... life is full of surprises, as we all know ... what more can I say. I know it will take time to get used to, but ... when you see him, when you see us, I hope you'll understand."

"It's you, Mione. We understand already."

Hermione looked up at George, tears welling immediately into her eyes. She rushed over and embraced him. He circled his arms about her and stroked her back. "It's alright, Mione. You can't get rid of us that easily, y'know."

Laughter mixed with her tears and she pulled back, wiping them from her face. She turned to Ginny, who now had a faint smile on her face.

"Gin ..."

Her friend reached her arm out and drew her into a hug.

"Y'know, Mione, I always thought Draco's dad was quite tasty. Seems I wasn't the only one." They laughed together in their embrace before moving apart. "Before I forget, here you go." Ginny placed a beautifully wrapped present in her hands. "It's from all of us. I'm sorry you can't be with us this year, but ... we understand."

"Thanks, Ginny. Maybe it's best that you don't tell your parents about all this yet. Do you mind?"

"No, that's fine. A wise move."

Hermione took a deep breath and smiled around at them. Ron had by now come back into the room and stood in the background, hands in his pockets, but seemingly resigned to the situation.

"I'd better go. Merry Christmas, all of you. I'm sure I'll see you soon enough in the New Year. There's the Ministry ball after all. Not sure if I'll make it, but ... you never know."

She moved to the door, kissing and hugging them, apart from Ron who still got a warm smile which he returned.

"Bye for now. I love you all."

And, with a wave, she was off, disapparating back to the Manor.

On arrival, she called wearily into the house, the welcoming glow of the Christmas tree immediately soothing away the emotional exhaustion of her trip. "I'm back!"

Lucius appeared almost instantly from the sitting room and walked straight over to embrace her. She nestled into his soft shirt and held herself tightly against him. "Hmm ... missed you."

"I missed you."

Only after she moved back from him did he inquire warily, "And?"

Hermione sighed long and slow and slouched towards the sitting room, removing her coat and scarf in the process before slumping onto the sofa.

"It was okay."

"Okay?" He stood tall beside her, an eyebrow cocked cynically.

"No ... to be honest, it went well. I mean, they were all pretty shocked to start with, but ... they're my friends, they're good people ... they understand."

"And Weasley?"

She smirked up at him. "He'll come round. You don't need to practise your hexes yet."

Lucius didn't look convinced, but leaned down to kiss her tenderly. "Well, I'm glad you're back. You've done well. Let me get you a drink. What would you like?"

"Is there any of that Rioja left?"

Not taking his eyes from her or moving his body, he brought his right hand out to the side. After a moment only, he moved it back before her face; it contained a full glass of red wine.

Hermione laughed with glee and kissed him again. "What a very clever and lovely man you are."

"Not everyone would agree."

"Well, they don't know what they're missing out on." She patted the sofa next to her and he lowered himself into the space. "Our first Christmas together. I haven't got you anything too special, I'm afraid. I normally spend a while planning and getting the perfect presents, but this year has been ... slightly different."

Lucius had his arm around her, his hand resting on her head, stroking her hair. "Don't trouble yourself with that."

They stared into the fire, the warm glow seeping into the reassuring darkness of night.

"Do you remember the first time I came in here? You were sitting over there, in that chair, with your back turned. This sofa wasn't even here then. You didn't look round. I wasn't even sure there was anyone here. You just raised a finger and beckoned me over." She paused to picture the memory. "Pretentious git."

"Now now."

"I thought I'd be finished in a day."

"I remember. Presumptuous cow."

"Oy!" She whacked him hard on the chest.

He chuckled and held her close.

"When I walked into that library for the first time, I just didn't know what to think, where to begin."

"Did you want to leave?"

She thought about it. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because I felt I had a purpose again."

"Making me fall in love with you?"

She laughed with embarrassment into his chest. "Is that what happened?"

He sighed deeply and took a while to continue. "You were right. I was suffocating here, being consumed by my own ideals and prejudices. I knew nothing else. I hadn't been able to deal with the sudden shift I felt around me after the war. I didn't want to. My desertion of the Dark Lord terrified me as much as it saved me. I had done this thing, this thing which forced me to relinquish my hold on all things familiar to me, everything I thought I believed in, but equally, I no longer had the structure to support me, merely a crumbling edifice of the past, a relic of a once well-defined and glorious pureblood dynasty, both in the fabric of my house and the tattered remains of my soul. And here I stayed, propping up what was left, unable to leave for fear it would crumble forever.

"And then you came. You came crashing into this place, into my life, sweeping through, exposing the cracks, forcing me to confront the reality of its inevitable decline: your scent, your eyes, your voice, your body, so new and vital. You provided the scaffolding with which to rebuild, and with that I could breathe again. I was no longer shackled by this immense burden of responsibility for all that had been. You allowed me to realise that things continued without it, not abandoning the noble parts, but adapting, looking forward. I could no longer imagine you away from my house, away from me. You came to define this place and its future as much as anything that had gone before. You were allowing it to live again, allowing me to live.

"But then the past rose up a final time, unable to fully relinquish its control, unable to accept its servant's departure. It held me and put me to the final test, tempting as it does in its desperate bid for survival, enticing me with false hopes and dreams, destroying the one thing that was saving me. And I nearly succumbed, I nearly lost you. Weak and foolish coward that I am."

"No, Lucius, you're not."

"You yourself said it once."

"That was a long time ago. And it was merely a suggestion of what may have been."

"But you were right. I was a coward before: weak, blinded by ambition and glory, unable to think for myself."

"But not when it mattered, Lucius. You did save me. You did what had to be done, and you went through a worse torture than I ever had to endure, because you were confronted by your own fallibility, your own fears and torments. You did that for me. I know that. You saved my soul by flaying yours bare."

Lucius fell silent, his eyes fixed darkly ahead of him.

"You cannot doubt that I love you." He turned and stared deep into her. "Falling in love with you was all I could possibly do."

Hermione returned his gaze, her own eyes glazed with bright tears. He inclined his head and kissed her gently. "My love, my salvation ..." He repeated his words through soft murmurings against her skin.

"I like that," she whispered.

"You know it's the truth."

"I like to think it, over and over and over again ... _Lucius Malfoy fell in love with me_."

He grinned, still planting soft, delicate kisses over her face, her eyelids, her cheeks, her brows. "Just to be absolutely certain; would you like me to show you exactly how much I fell in love with you?"

"Oh ... I think I'd like that very much."

He bent down to kiss her again and, almost without her realising it, took her in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. The clock in the hall struck midnight, announcing the dark and quiescent start of Christmas Day. As they passed swiftly and silently by, the star shone brightly over them.


	25. Chapter 25

**Happy Christmasy Chapter!**

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sound of bells. Admittedly, they were distant bells, but they were pealing across the rolling hills on Christmas morning.

For a moment, she imagined herself back in her parents' house. Before the war, before Hogwarts, before witchcraft, the bells of Christmas morning would have signified a mass Granger exodus down the narrow country lane near their house to the church of St Michael and All Angels.

For a moment, she missed it.

For a moment, she had a vision of what could have been had magic not invaded her blood in the womb: Cheltenham Ladies' College like her mother; Trinity, Cambridge like her father; a job in the City; marriage to a reliable, predictable merchant banker who would provide her with lots of cars, lots of dogs and lots of children.

She pulled the heavy covers from the bed, careful not to disturb Lucius, who was still sleeping beside her, and crossed to the window. The heavy curtains seemed reluctant to let in the white light of morning, but she drew them back a chink nonetheless and stared out at the crisp Malfoy lawns. It wasn't going to be a white Christmas, but the grass sparkled with a heavy, icy frost and she could tell the temperature was well below freezing. An excited chill ran along her skin, causing her to shiver involuntarily.

But the chill was suddenly and splendidly removed by large warm hands running firmly up her arms, and supple lips kissing away the goose-pimples on her shoulders.

"Merry Christmas," purred Lucius.

"Merry Christmas," she reiterated, turning and slipping her hands around his neck to pull him down for the first kiss of the day.

"You woke early."

"I heard the bells."

"They're from the local village. Norman church. Finely carved pillars. Beautiful tower."

"Hmm."

He was clasping her into him, one hand cupping her backside while the other held her head to angle it for his penetrating kisses. She tried again to speak.

"I always used to go to church on Christmas Day if I hadn't been to Midnight Mass the night before."

"Do you want to go today? You can."

"Would you come with me?"

He paused in his ministrations and raised a cynical eyebrow. "If nothing else, my days of hypocrisy are over, my dear."

She laughed. "I agree. I won't go. Although I always used to like the ritual, the predictability of family, the comfort of community."

He drew back slightly and Hermione detected a sudden cold fear in his eyes. She held him close. "Don't worry, my darling. I'm not going to desert you for a parochial life in the Home Counties." There was a silence where they just held each other, Hermione keen to dispel his sense of incompatibility. But her own mind nudged her, nudged her to contemplate the other future, the one she had committed to. "But ... we can have a life together outside all this, you know."

He moved his eyes from hers, his face straight. She allowed him his silence. After a while, he moved back to look at her. "You will have to be patient with me."

"I know. I will, my darling, my darling." She bestowed soft reassuring kisses over his proud face. "Anything. But I'm here for you; I'm here to help you. You must let me."

Lucius smiled softly and rested his forehead on the top of her head.

Hermione grinned, squeezing his hands with sudden excitement, keen to banish the moment of uncertainty. "Do you want your present now?"

He raised his eyebrows. He didn't want or expect anything.

"It isn't much; in fact, there's hardly anything to show for it yet, but in due course ..."

She rushed over to the bedside table and pulled out an envelope from the drawer. Around it was tied a red silk ribbon. Laughing, she handed it over. "I'm sorry it's not an enormous great box with charmed wrapping paper and twirling ribbon, but ... Happy Christmas, Lucius."

He smiled and crossed to sit on the bed. Reaching for his wand, he moved it along the top of the envelope so that it opened with perfectly neat precision.

With careful fingers, he took out the single folded piece of paper inside and read, his eyes rapidly scanning the neat words.

"A portrait?"

"Jeremy Ferguson – he's a famous Muggle artist based in Bath who also happens to be a friend of my parents. I called into his studio when we were there. I've commissioned a portrait from him of whatever you want – it can be you or a view of the house, the gardens ... anything you like. He's a brilliant man – he was an official artist for the Houses of Parliament. Several of his pictures are in the National Portrait Gallery. I know he's a Muggle, but he's better than most magical artists and I can surreptitiously charm the brushes and canvas so that the image will move once we bring it back. I wanted to give you something for the house."

At first, Lucius did not speak. "But this must be very expensive."

An embarrassed laugh rose from her and she spoke, trying not to sound as pretentious as she feared, "Well, being ... me ... does have its advantages, financially as well as in other ways. And ... you deserve it."

Lucius' thumb ran over the paper he held in his hands, his eyes staring at it, his mouth open as if to speak.

"I ..." It was the first time she had ever seen him at a loss for words. He turned to her, his eyes moving over her face with tender humility. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Leaning in, she kissed him gently again.

He maintained the kiss for some time, as if needing it to affirm his appreciation. When at length they pulled away, he breathed out with a renewed confidence, "I will give you your present later."

"You know I don't expect anything."

He inhaled with a shrug. "Well ... it's only a bar of soap and a few chocolates, but I thought I'd better get you something."

She laughed and leaned against his shoulder. "Oh God, I haven't even thought about lunch. Forget turkey! At this rate, it's going to be baked beans on toast!"

"Grimble has it all in hand."

"Oh, Lucius, I hope he hasn't gone to too much trouble. I was hoping he could have the day off."

"I did offer, but he was very keen to stay and cook. Believe it or not, he does rather enjoy it. As you know, we all like to have a sense of purpose."

She smiled as she recalled their conversation of the previous night.

Hermione fell back onto the bed. "It's only just after eight. Do you know, as wonderful as Molly and Arthur always are, not that you will be particularly thrilled to hear that ... but as wonderful as they always have been to me at Christmas, it's quite nice to get away. I mean, it can be rather ... oppressive after nearly twenty years."

"Did you always go, even after you and Weasley ended it?"

"Not for the first couple of years after the split, but ... we've always remained friends, and Molly and Arthur are like my second family; they understood the break-up, so ... it was fine. But ..." she sighed and reached over to stroke his back, "it's wonderful to just be here with no demands, no expectations of happy joviality."

His eyebrows rose sardonically."Yes, my dear, here, you may be as miserable as you like."

She laughed aloud again, her peal of mirth knitting together yet another crack in Lucius' soul. He bent down and kissed her once more. "Now ... as we have at least five hours until lunch ..."

Entwining their limbs about each other, they set about filling the time.

xox

Late in the morning, they finally got up. Hermione's body was slow and sated after the pleasure which had repeatedly coursed through it during the morning and she climbed into the shower, allowing the sharp hot fall of the water to reignite her senses. On re-emerging she found the room empty, and after dressing and retrieving a parcel from a drawer, she made her way downstairs.

Immediately, she inhaled wonderful smells of cooking, smells which once again took her back to her childhood and days of roast turkey and cranberry sauce and mince pies. She stopped on the landing and took it in, her soul suddenly gripped with crippling nostalgia.

The deep throb of the clock in the hall chimed twelve. Her eyes moved around the large space, and she brought her hand to rest on the warm dark wood of the banister. And so it passed and tranquility seeped through her body; she was calm again.

She didn't need anything else. She didn't want to be anywhere else. Here provided her with perfect contentment – a hint of her past wrapped in the glory of a future with Lucius.

Fortified, she continued down the stairs and made her way to the kitchen where she could hear conversation.

Grimble was busy at the stove and Lucius sat at the table, reading the Daily Prophet. "It smells incredible down here, Grimble. What a fantastic job you're doing."

He didn't reply; she didn't expect him to, but he did manage to turn and allow his features to bend up into something approaching a smile.

Hermione crossed to the elf and held out the package she was holding. "I got you a little something to say thank you for all you do for me. Happy Christmas, Grimble."

The elf halted and turned slowly to her proffered hand as if it contained poison. He couldn't hide his shock at what she was doing.

Slowly, almost unsure, Grimble took the gift with hesitation, his hands visibly shaking before him. Then raising his eyes, he looked up at her, and in a barely audible and clearly overwhelmed voice said, "Thank you, Miss."

"You can open it now, if you wish."

Grimble crossed to the table, wiping his hands as he went. Lucius watched him carefully over the top of the newspaper.

His fingers still trembling, the elf undid the wrapping. Inside was a small but beautifully tailored shirt and pair of trousers, bought from a specialist shop in Bath.

"I'll get you some shoes as well at some point, when we can go and choose them together."

Grimble couldn't look at her. He was already a free-elf, but her gift could not prevent an almost unstoppable surge of emotion from sweeping through him. "Thank you, Miss." Hermione had never heard his voice so honest and genuine. "And a happy Christmas to you too."

On hearing those words, Hermione bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

She had never seen colour rise so quickly onto anyone's face. Grimble's normally pallid complexion turned the colour of the ripest tomato and he immediately turned away to hide his embarrassed delight, retreating to the safety of the stove. Hermione glanced at Lucius. He appeared equally amazed, his eyebrows raised in clear shock. He stared unblinkingly at the spot where his lover had just kissed his house-elf before shaking off the disturbing vision and returning with determined concentration to the Daily Prophet.

Hermione smirked to herself. They had all come a long way since that day Grimble had first opened the door to her.

"I thought we would eat in the dining room."

Hermione was not at first sure she had heard Lucius' drawl properly.

"The dining room?"

"Hm."

"But ... I'm more than happy in here. I'd never presume to ask you to eat in the old family rooms."

"You did once."

Hermione frowned. What did he mean? She had no memory of such a thing. Lucius glanced up, aware of her confusion.

"I doubt you will remember. At the time, you were ... quite insistent."

Hermione dropped her eyes in shame. It must have been under the curse. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. "It doesn't matter. In any case, it's only correct that we eat in there. We must begin to use more rooms. This house has lain dormant long enough."

"The dining room is ready, Master. Lunch is served."

"Jolly good, Grimble." Lucius stood quickly, folding the paper and placing it on the table. He moved towards the door but suddenly stopped himself and turned back to his house-elf. A momentary flicker of uncertainty passed over him before he said, clearly and sincerely, "Thank you, Grimble. I appreciate your efforts, on this day in particular."

Any colour which had faded from Grimble's face was instantly restored with a vengeance. Once again, he turned away quickly.

Lucius took Hermione's hand and led her through to the dining room. She let out an audible gasp on entering the room. The table was set with the finest silver cutlery; damask napkins lay folded next to their places; ornate candelabra sparkled, casting a dancing glow beneath. Extending down the middle of the table was a centre piece of holly and ivy vivid with deep red berries. The air above danced with a shimmering glow of enchanted light.

"Bloody hell!"

Lucius smiled at her exclamation. "I'm glad you approve." He pulled out her chair and she sat, her face fixed into a broad grin of delight.

Soon enough, Grimble appeared with a platter on which sat an enormous steaming turkey.

"No baked beans," Lucius teased from his place across from Hermione. Smiling, she dropped her head.

Grimble returned a moment later with vast plates of vegetables, a gravy boat and various sauces and condiments. Hermione didn't know where to begin. She felt rather overwhelmed. "There are only two of us, Lucius."

He shrugged. "As my father used to say, "Eat what you can and can what you can't.'"

"Your father said that?!" Hermione gaped in disbelief.

He turned his mouth down at the corners. "Come to think of it, no – I just thought it sounded good."

Hermione snorted out a laugh. "What was your father really likely to say?"

Lucius was silent for a while. "I can't remember. He never spent long enough in conversation with me."

Lucius sniffed and waved his wand. Slices of perfectly carved turkey appeared on her plate. She hardly noticed. His words were still running through her head, bringing with them a solemn and sudden melancholy. They had never spoken about his early life, about his family. Now was not the time either, but the low resentment present in his voice was unmistakeable.

Hermione at last focused on her plate, not wishing to dwell further on the gloom he'd hinted at. Lucius wouldn't want it. "This is amazing. Thank you."

He smiled. "I did very little."

"You must have instructed Grimble. I appreciate that."

"I admit: I haven't had a proper Christmas meal for ... a long time." Again his voice was distant.

They both sat now with full plates before them. Hermione raised her glass. "Well here's to many more Christmas dinners and ... to us, Lucius."

He looked at her, his eyes aglow in the candlelight, and raised his own glass in turn. "To us."

The rest of the meal passed with the happy contentment of two people so comfortable in each other's presence that any silence was respected at worst, unnoticed at best. Not that there were many silences. There followed a Christmas pudding, alight with a blue flame, presented proudly by Grimble, and even some crackers.

Afterwards they sat full and sated by the fire in the sitting room again, lulled by the flickering shadows on the walls.

"I've eaten too much," bemoaned Hermione.

"I thought that was what Christmas was for. In any case, you need to eat. You're still too scrawny after all that happened."

"You don't like a scrawny woman then, Lucius?"

"Certainly not."

"Glad to hear it. I'll stuff my face at every opportunity." She smirked up at him. "Only kidding."

He responded with a kiss again. It was impossible not to. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

She stretched, not sure whether she had the energy to fulfil his suggestion. "Ooh, I'm so relaxed here, but we should really. And it was such a beautiful day earlier. Come on then. Just a short one."

It was Hermione who stood first, pulling Lucius up behind her. Wrapping up against the cold which still captured the countryside around the Manor, they went outside.

Hermione allowed herself to be led by Lucius who seemed to be following a particular path. She glanced ahead. They were walking towards the walled garden she had discovered all those months ago. Holding onto his arm tight, she nestled against him, recalling the last time they were there, how it had been a significant moment in the development of their relationship. On approaching it, she practically danced through the arched doorway.

"Such a perfect space."

"It is with you in it."

"Last time I was here, I was wondering what it would be like in the spring, but I didn't think I would be around to see it."

"I remember that walk very well."

Once again, Hermione took herself off round the garden with childish exuberance. Lucius could only watch.

If he had a regret, it was only that she had not come to him sooner. How long had he turned from life, turned from love, locked away in the recesses of his own mind? Could she not have found him before? His heart panged with the years they had not been together, years he knew she too had been searching, slipping through time in the hope of falling onto the right path.

Had there ever been any doubt? Had he not loved her from the first moment she had stepped into his house and accepted?

And now. This force of nature that had captured him, this woman so intrinsically linked to the survival of his soul, of his future ... was he worthy? His own desolate past rose up again to swamp him, taunt him, goad him with the threat of inadequacy, of rejection.

But this was not real magic; this was the warped madness of a mind confronting its own isolation. He staggered, gripping a tree branch to steady himself, desperate to banish the black fog gripping him.

And then he heard it again: that bright rippling dance of sound which tripped into his ear and into his soul.

The source of the sound came upon him, curling her lithe sweet body around his and pressing against him, her laughter still ringing in his ears.

"I love you."

He believed her. The darkness vanished. Time began to pass fluidly once again.

Kissing her gently, Lucius raised his hand and flicked it, unseen and subtle.

In the midst of the kiss, Hermione felt a prickle below her neck, something light but sharp, tickling almost. She broke away and turned to look.

A robin was perched on her shoulder.

She froze, not wishing to scare it off.

"Woah. Hello, there. Lucius ... can you believe it ... what do I do?"

He smiled at her, her neck twisted to look at the bird without disturbing it. "He likes you."

Hermione smiled, her finger coming up tentatively to touch the bird, its breast puffed up and scarlet against the frost of the garden.

After a bright chirrup, it fluttered away, landing on a bird bath to the side of the path. Hermione laughed with delight. "Isn't he beautiful? He's not at all scared of us."

The bird cocked its head and seemed almost to beckon her over. She walked gently across to where it rested on the side of the bird bath.

"Oh, poor thing. Look at this, the water's completely frozen. He wants a drink."

She tapped the rigid ice in the bird bath. "I left my wand inside. We need to melt the ice. Hang on ..."

Peering into the bird bath, Hermione frowned as something even brighter caught her eye, captured within the grip of the crystallised water. "There's something ..."

Lucius had silently crossed to join her, glancing over her shoulder at the object in question.

Hermione's fingers rubbed over the surface of the ice, but only succeeded in melting the thinnest layer under her tips. "There's something shining in there. It looks like a ..." The glint of gold and red broke through even the thick ice. "I can't ..."

"Perhaps you'd better use this." Lucius held out his wand. She took it, still bemused at her discovery.

_"__Iscari Liquifio!"_

The ice cracked, shifted and melted before her eyes. It was now clear to Hermione what the object actually was, and with the realisation she was unable to move, unable to reach in to retrieve it.

She turned to stare up at Lucius, who merely returned her gaze with cool steadiness, belying nothing in the crystal grey of his eyes.

"There is indeed something there. You had better take it out." His words were as smooth and clear as ever.

Slowly, hardly daring, Hermione reached in. Her fingers did not notice the icy water, did not react to the chill which spread up her hand. They closed around the small circular object and she drew it out, unable to look at him.

Her breath caught tight and dry in her throat as she stared at the thing gleaming in her hand.

It was a ring.

A dark ruby within a diamond setting sat perched atop a deep gold orb.

Words and thoughts emptied from her mind. At length, she turned her gaze up to him, tears shining in her brown eyes.

"Happy Christmas ... Hermione."

"I ... I ...thank you." For once, she was at a loss for words.

"I think you'd better put it on."

Hermione's hand was shaking. Picking up the ring with trembling uncertainty, she allowed it to hover over the tips of her fingers, eventually placing it on her middle finger.

Lucius took her hand and stroked along it. "Is that where you wish to put it?"

"It looks good there ... doesn't it?" Her voice was tremulous.

"It would look good on another finger too."

She at last glanced up at him. His face was as tight and nervous as hers. Her fortitude returned. He was struggling more than she was.

"Which finger, Lucius? Which finger should I wear it on?"

His eyes dropped. "I ... wouldn't presume. I can't. After all this time, I'm afraid to hope."

Tears were by now tumbling haphazardly from her eyes. "Lucius ..." She took his head in her hands and brought it to look directly at her. "I love you. I want you. Always."

"I love you."

"Well, then, let's do this properly, shall we?"

He drew in a juddering breath and looked tentatively down, taking her hand in his, and slowly pulling off the ring from her middle finger.

With agonising slowness, Hermione watched as he moved it instead to her ring finger. At last, she felt the cool metal slide perfectly down her slim digit as he pushed it on. She could not prevent the broadest smile gripping her face.

"Hermione ... marry me."

She looked up, still smiling, her head moving slightly in disbelief at his doubt. "Yes, my darling, my love. Of course."

And then Lucius laughed, a deep, low throbbing sound of sheer release.

He encircled her into him and they stood, still and silent, perfectly placed within the garden and each other.


	26. Chapter 26

Eventually, Hermione and Lucius wandered back to the house. It was hard to walk as they were holding each other so tightly that their balance was impeded. Several times, Hermione tripped over his feet and Lucius had to pull her back.

There was much giggling from Hermione and chuckling from Lucius. It was such a rare sound from him that she had to keep reminding herself it was in fact coming from Lucius.

Hermione could not take her eyes off her ring. Her hand was almost permanently extended before her, and she kept twisting a little so that the ruby and diamonds would catch the light and glimmer tantalisingly in her eyes.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it!? Like is hardly the word."

"It has been in the family many years on my mother's side. It dates from around 1860."

Hermione stopped and looked up at him. "It's so beautiful. I don't feel worthy."

Lucius' face twinged. Her statement and the logic behind it were so warped to him that he didn't quite comprehend her meaning.

"What?"

"This is an heirloom. It's overwhelming that you would give it to me."

Still he frowned. Surely she was not referring to her Muggle-born status jarring with the artefacts of the Manor? His beliefs, beliefs he had still clung to only a few months ago, seemed so distant, so archaic and removed from how he now lived with this woman that he could no longer contemplate it. His head shook in bewilderment.

"I told you. The past must live in the future. But despite that, there is no worthier recipient of this ring. None at all. You are the only one who could bear it. You are perfect and I love you."

He spoke so factually that it took Hermione some time to fully process his words.

Her eyes were dampening rapidly again and she kissed him quickly to hide her emotion. Pulling him close, she whispered against his ear, "I love you too."

Gradually, slowly, they made it back to the house. It had begun to grow dark and since they had eaten a lot at lunchtime they needed no supper. They spent the evening in the sitting room, reading, talking, listening, Hermione's gaze never far from the dark crimson sparkle on her finger.

When she wasn't staring at her ring, Hermione was staring at her lover, unable to remove the smile from her face.

He caught her gaze and smiled gently. "Yes?"

"I like looking at you."

"That is rather fortunate seeing as we have just committed to spending the rest of our lives together."

Hermione laughed again and pressed herself against him on the sofa. "It may take a while to sink in, Lucius."

"What?" He hardly looked up from his book.

"You know what! Marrying you!"

He smiled. "I'll give you as much time as you wish."

"How do you mean?"

"Well. There's no rush to set a date, I suppose, or even discuss technicalities. You know I want you. I will give you time to decide how you wish things to be done."

Hermione looked at him in wonder. "Remind me when it was exactly that you became perfect?"

He looked into the deep brown of her eyes, his gaze reaching deep into her. "You mustn't say that. You know better than anyone of my imperfections, better perhaps than me. I love you because you're with me despite them."

His sudden seriousness took her aback. "It was only a figure of speech, Lucius. But ... I have to say, if you had told me a year ago that I would be sitting the following Christmas newly engaged to a former Death Eater who had stood by and watched while I was tortured ..." Her hand came up unknowingly to press against her eyes.

Lucius' features tensed and his eyes moved away from her. "Like I said ... imperfections."

She quickly moved to ease his concern. "It was a long time ago, Lucius. As you can tell, I've clearly moved on."

He still frowned with insecurity, but he looked back at her evenly.

"What did you expect when you first arrived?"

"I didn't know what to expect. I certainly didn't expect a warm welcome. And I didn't get one."

She felt him smirk. "I know ... that damned house-elf."

"Ahem, Mr Malfoy! You couldn't stand the thought of a Muggle-born descending to scrutinise and invade your privacy."

"I confess, I'm hardly likely even now to open the Manor to all and sundry." She cocked an eyebrow cynically. "But in your case, as I think I have shown, I'm willing to make an exception." His mouth moved towards hers and captured her lips in a kiss of pure acceptance. "I have so much to say to you, so much, my love ..." He was by now at her neck. Hermione arched up, inviting him into her warmth.

"Don't talk now ... don't talk ..."

As he shifted to carry her once more up to bed, she thought she could hear a whisper of breath, absorbed against her heartbeat: "I'm sorry."

They made love before sleeping, tender and gentle, entirely focussed on the other's pleasure. Each time Hermione released her ecstasy to him in soft waves of abandon, the memories of her violent craving and need under the curse were pushed further into the dim corners of Lucius' mind.

During the course of Boxing Day, Hermione retreated for a while to the library where she finalised and prepared her findings for Shackebolt. She intended to return to the Ministry the following day to deliver her report.

As she prepared to leave, Hermione paused in the hallway, a sudden realisation taking hold of her. She fingered her ring nervously as Lucius came up to bid her goodbye.

"You won't be too long, will you?"

"No. I'm just going to hand this to the Minister." She smiled tentatively up at him.

"What's the matter?"

"Well ... you know."

"Do I?"

Hermione sighed at his male insensitivity. She didnt see the smirk dance briefly across his mouth.

"Do you think ..." She was gripping her ring again. "Do you think I should take this off?" She fully expected him to answer with a yes.

"You may do as you wish."

She glanced at him. "But, if people see ..."

"I'm aware of that."

"But, don't you ...?"

"Hermione, your hesitation seems to be stemming more from your own fears and insecurities than mine. I have made my decision. I am happy with it. It took many years for me to banish the doubt brought about by the expectation and judgement of others. I shall certainly not let it affect me in this matter."

Hermione dropped her head, shamed at his words. "Well, I don't think I'll tell people outright just now, but if they see, I'll ..."

"You'll what?"

She swallowed. His conviction was remarkable and shamed her. She was a Gryffindor. Her spirit at last rose to the fore. "I'll tell them the truth."

With a smile, he kissed her.

"Bye bye, Lucius."

He held her hand long after she had moved away from him, his fingers reaching for her. "Hurry back."

"I will."

When she had left, he detected the house's sigh in unison with his own exhalation.

-xox-

The sight of Hermione Granger in the Ministry of Magic turned heads more than usual. Even when she had regularly graced the gleaming corridors people had stared, but now she could feel hundreds of eyes boring into her, hear whisperings and mutterings as she swept past. They knew she'd been absent for many months. And they knew where she'd been.

Hermione considered their glances. She hadn't yet recovered its ripe health from before, but was there more? Was her devotion to a pureblood Death Eater apparent in her eyes? Was her sense of belonging in a place where she had previously been tortured etched into her smile? Was her happiness visible to them all? Her love obvious?

Perhaps. But she would dictate the pace of her revelation.

She carried her robes over her left arm, shielding her ring finger from view.

Hermione had owled ahead, notifying Shacklebolt of her arrival.

He crossed to her as soon as she entered his office, enclosing her in his broad arms. "Hello at last! How's my favourite little bookworm? Good Christmas?"

"Yes. You?"

"Noisy. Crowded. Good? I'm not sure I could call it that, but it certainly happened." He chuckled warmly and sat, indicating for her to follow him. "So ... your great task is complete at last?"

"Yes. At last." Hermione smiled, clutching her right hand over her left.

"And ... anything significant to report?"

"No."

"You seem very certain of that."

"I am. I went through the library with a fine tooth comb. Everything is perfectly in order. Malfoy Manor is free from dark forces – I can attest to that."

Shacklebolt smiled intently across at her. There was a momentary silence which she broke by reaching into her bag and handing over the thick document of her report.

"You'll find everything you need in there. As I've said, there was nothing malevolent detected in any of the volumes, but I have detailed all texts which bore any reference to the Dark Arts. I hope you will find it thorough."

Shacklebolt smirked as he leafed through the pages. "Thorough? You seem to have practically rewritten the library itself, Hermione!"

She allowed herself a smile. "There's a summary in the back should you want something more concise to present to the Wizengamot."

"I think that will come in very handy." Shacklebolt continued to glance through the document. "And Malfoy?"

Hermione immediately felt the flush in her cheeks. "What about him?"

"Did he treat you well? I don't imagine you saw much of him. From what I've heard he stays carefully tucked away these days."

She didn't answer. Her mind burned; should she say?

It was not nerves that prevented her from telling the Minister for Magic of the true nature of her relationship with Lucius Malfoy, but conviction. Now was not the time. She didn't want to reveal a matter of such joy in an office in the place of her employment. Shacklebolt was a man, focussed on work and routine; she doubted he would even notice her sparkling finger or make the connection if he did.

"He treated me very well and has started getting out more. You'd be pleased with his progress. I saw nothing in his manner to indicate any threat or danger from his previously held convictions."

"_Previously_ held convictions?"

"Yes."

"Well, I suppose you should know. If he treated you, a muggle-born, with fairness and equanimity, then I suppose ..."

"He treated me perfectly."

For the first time Shacklebolt looked at her with something other than polite attention. He smiled curiously for some time before dropping his head and nodding. "Good. Pleased to hear it."

"Is there anything else you wish to know, Minister?"

"No, I think you've provided a remarkably thorough examination of the inside of Malfoy's library."

Hermione blushed again, not entirely sure why.

She stood, keen to get out of the increasingly stale atmosphere of Shacklebolt's office. "Thank you for seeing me so quickly, Minister. I'll be returning to work here at the Ministry in the New Year."

"We look forward to seeing you, my dear. The place hasn't been the same without your incisive mind. I've missed the reassurance of being able to call upon your intellect. Still, enjoy the New Year first. I hope we'll see you at the Ministry Ball?"

Hermione froze. She'd forgotten entirely about the New Year Ball.

"Oh, I ... yes, yes, of course." She reeled and spoke without thinking; Shacklebolt's reminder had thrown her completely.

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you and your partner there. Until Friday then!"

She found herself walking down the corridor instinctively, her feet bearing her to the nearest fire-place.

_Shit._

A ball. Lucius wouldn't want to go, surely?

But it would be so good, so wonderful to go as a couple, to dance, to laugh, to be together. She wanted to go.

The floo took her swiftly away and she landed quickly in the large dormant fireplace of the dining room of the Manor. It was the first time she'd flooed there. It was the first time she had needed to. She glanced around as if almost afraid to be there, particularly with the invitation she concealed in her mind.

With a deep breath she made her way to the sitting room. Lucius sat by the fire reading. He stood as soon as she entered the room.

"Don't get up."

"My darling, you know better than to deny me the opportunity to rise in your presence."

She laughed and soon found herself in his arms. She breathed him in and held him. "It's good to be back."

"Hm. How was it?"

"Fine. He was very happy."

"Did you tell him?"

"About us?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Was that deliberate or accidental?"

"A bit of both I suppose. There was no obvious opportunity, but I could've made one had I wanted."

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No."

He drew back a little and glanced down at her. "Hermione."

She looked up, feeling her cheeks warm. "Yes?"

"I see no need to delay telling people our situation. I don't want to pressure you in any way; you're entitled to tell people in your own time, but don't think any procrastination is due to my feelings on the matter."

"I don't. I just ... didn't want to say anything then and there ... in the Ministry – it's not the most ... personal of places. There's something next week ..." Her head dropped again. As much as he seemed keen to reveal their relationship, she wasn't sure exposing their liaison in front of hundreds of distinguished guests was quite what he had in mind.

"Go on."

"The Ministry New Year Ball. It's an annual celebration. Always rather fun, I guess. It's been good in the past. We could ..." She didn't feel able to continue.

Lucius didn't speak.

She swallowed nervously. To go from virtual self-exile in the Manor to presenting himself as the lover of one of his enemies was clearly going to be a step too far. She hoped she hadn't angered him too much.

"I think the Savile Row dress robes will work."

Hermione shot her head up. He was looking over her shoulder, his mouth slightly pursed, as if contemplating what to wear. She laughed aloud. "Are you serious?"

"What? Not suitable? Too much? Come and see my wardrobe, choose which you ..."

"No, no! I don't mean that ... I mean ..." Her voice trailed off into laughter again. Lucius' mouth curled up into a smirk. "I thought you'd hate the idea."

"I've just told you that I'd prefer not to delay. You clearly wish to go. We'll go. We'll go ... and begin our life."

Tears were welling up yet again. She laughed and clasped herself against his chest. "Do you think we could possibly have a conversation in the next few days which doesn't result in me blubbing?"

He chuckled softly and kissed the top of her head. "I'll do my best."

As Lucius led her through to the dining room for supper, he spoke with tones of smooth honey, "It isn't just my clothes we must worry about. I am greatly looking forward to the dress you will pour your exquisite body into." She laughed the last of her tears away as he held the door open and ushered her in, drawling down as she passed, "Make sure it's tight."

* * *

**Last one next, folks. x**


	27. Chapter 27

**Last chapter.**

**Thank you for all your support and appreciation. It's been fascinating to look back and revisit this. I've changed as a writer since this, some would say not for the better, I'm sure, but there we are! Watch this space for more, and watch/like my Facebook page (Laurielove) for even more. And, in the meantime, I'll leave it to Lucius and Hermione to have the last word.**

**LL x**

* * *

It was with an overwhelming sense of excitement that Hermione prepared for the New Year Ball.

She took herself off on a day trip to Muggle London to choose a dress. Shopping had a become an unwanted but necessary evil in recent years and she rarely derived pleasure from it, but on this occasion she found herself flitting from boutique to department store trying on a myriad of dresses in search of the perfect one.

She considered an emerald green taffeta gown with a full skirt and plunging neck line, but decided she looked like an inflated Slytherin meringue. She nearly bought a dark red satin slip dress which fell elegantly but merely skimmed over the curves Lucius was so keen to see.

It was only a few minutes before five, in a small shop off Kensington High Street, that something caught her eye.

The dress was made of a deep gold silk, adorned with tiny pearls along the neckline which curled down in a feathering arc to the waist. It was fitted, elegant ... tight. As soon as she tried it on she knew it was the one. Turning to glance at herself in the mirror, the corners of her mouth curled up. Her shape had filled out that little bit more in the last week, and her lush curves seemed to be poured into the burnished silk.

Lucius would approve.

She didn't show him the dress until the night of the ball. She could tell he was curious about it; he'd tried to sneak a look in the bag when she'd brought it home, but she'd playfully slapped his wrist. In return, he'd playfully smacked her arse. She was able to distract him from further prying by slipping into his arms and pulling him into bed. When they finally got out again two hours later he'd forgotten all about the dress.

As the date of the ball drew nearer, Hermione's excitement grew. Her initial apprehension about revealing the relationship had dwindled. Lucius had helped with this - his forthright determination surprised but delighted her. In any case, the important people knew already: Harry, Ginny, Draco, Ron. It was true that her engagement was not known to them, but the initial shock of the relationship had already been absorbed. If anyone else wished to gossip and whisper, so be it.

On the day of the ball, however, she noticed that Lucius' hitherto ebullient mood had become rather subdued. It didn't surprise her. He hadn't been out publicly in the wizarding world for so long under any circumstances, and here she was asking him to appear with her as a couple for the first time in the most exposed public arena there was. She sat next to him on the sofa after lunch and rested her head on his shoulder, taking his hand in hers.

"Are you alright?"

"Hm," he affirmed, entwining his fingers in hers but not taking his eyes off the Daily Prophet. "Why would I not be?"

"Tonight's a bit daunting for me, I suppose."

"Is it?" He continued to stare at the paper.

"A little. And ... possibly for you too."

He sniffed, turning to the next page.

"Thank you for being so wonderful about it," she continued.

"I've told you ... I've wasted too much of my life. You are my future; I wish to begin it. Although, I concur ... the phrase 'baptism of fire' does spring to mind. Still, I've known worse."

She looked up at him. At last, he turned away from the paper and met her eyes. His mouth turned up slightly and he bent slowly to kiss her before returning once again to the paper.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Good ... because I love you too."

She grinned and rested her head back on his shoulder.

"Of course ... if your arse doesn't look good enough in this gown of yours, we'll turn around and come straight back."

-xoOox-

Hermione didn't even allow Lucius to see her as she was dressing. She piled her hair in lush curls on her head, allowing a few tantalising strands to fall around her face. She'd put on some of her own jewellery: a necklace and bracelet of her mother's which complemented the dress perfectly. Lucius had been instructed to wait in the hall for her.

At quarter to eight she was at last ready and closed the bedroom door carefully. Her stomach lurched dramatically, partially with excitement but also with the eddying currents of nerves which had beset her all day.

Steadying herself, she held her head high and walked to the staircase.

Reaching the top, she looked down. Lucius was at the bottom, inspecting his fob watch, his brows slightly creased. He glanced up and saw her.

Hermione stood at the head of the staircase of Malfoy Manor, bathed in the bright glow of the star from the Christmas tree.

Lucius Malfoy didn't believe in angels, but for that moment, he allowed himself to believe he was wrong. The woman stood above him, luminous, radiant. If he blinked he feared she may vanish.

Certainty suddenly and irrevocably dispelled any dark remnant of his past. He was complete.

She moved down the staircase, a smooth gliding spirit of gold. It seemed as if the house itself bore her down, careful not to damage the fragile creature it had grown to depend on in the last few months.

Hermione was by now standing before Lucius. Her cheeks were flushed; she wasn't sure how he would react to her dress. He seemed a little unnerved. She took in the sight of him before her. He had on the finest frock coat, out of which could be seen a pristine glimpse of white shirt. Over the top he had placed the most immaculately tailored black dress robes she had ever seen. She ran her hand up his arm; the material reminded her of the ears on the rabbit she had kept as a child. She smiled. "You look gorgeous."

She dared a glance up at him. He was frowning a little at her, seemingly preoccupied. Her mouth dried up instantly. Did he not approve of her dress? Was he having doubts about the evening?

"I ..." His words did not come.

She gripped his hand. "What is it? I ... can take it off, wear something else ... we don't have to go if you don't want to."

Finally he looked into her eyes; in the midst of the grey she saw an additional spark, a real one this time, caused by tears.

"You have overwhelmed me."

Hermione swallowed. Her hand came up to his face, and she stroked over the high, noble cheekbones. "Lucius ..." Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and kissed him, soft and gentle. She kissed his lips, kissed his cheeks, kissed away his tears. He closed his eyes and the past and the present were bound.

_He had fallen in the garden, tripped on a stone, a deep cut on his knee seeped blood, he was crying, a woman was rushing to him, holding him, stroking him, his mother ... she took his head and kissed his cheek, kissed away his tears, took away the pain ... always ... the kiss takes away the pain ..._

"Hermione."

She smiled as he stared once again into her.

The clock struck eight. They should go.

Lucius inhaled deeply and raised himself tall, his eyes falling over her body.

Hermione blushed.

"You are perfect," he said.

"I hope it's ... tight enough."

He moved into her, his hands running firmly down the smooth silk encasing her waist, over her hips, coming to rest over the curve of her backside. He gave the plump, ripe flesh a good squeeze, his focus fully restored at last.

"Oh ... I think that will do nicely."

She laughed and glanced back up at him. "Ready?"

He nodded. Lucius held his arm out for her; she linked hers into it and together they disapparated from the Manor.

-xoOox-

The New Year Ball was held in the Ministry function room. Function room was hardly the right term for it - it was as ornate and opulent as a ballroom in the finest Regency country estate, putting similar Muggle venues to shame.

Hermione and Lucius arrived in her office, a few floors up from where they needed to be. It was deserted and they took a moment to gather their senses. But their fortitude was fired and they walked out through the pristine hallways, their arms still linked, tall and elegant.

Hermione tried not to look at anyone directly. The first witch who noticed them started, an audible gasp escaping her as if she had just seen the ghost of her bitter enemy. A wizard standing talking in a corner did such a perfect double-take that Hermione almost giggled aloud.

As they moved through a denser crowd of people, the chatter grew quiet, hushed, until at last it stopped completely. The throngs of witches and wizards gathered for the ball fell into a stony silence as Lucius Malfoy walked through them with Hermione Granger on his arm.

Hermione stared dead ahead, as did Lucius.

As the silence continued and all eyes burned into them, Hermione felt her resolve shudder for the first time. She gripped Lucius' arm hard and felt him pull it tighter into him.

"Hermione!"

A voice, so familiar and welcome came just as she feared she would weaken further.

Harry Potter walked purposefully through the crowds and came straight up to them in full view of the assembled guests. He immediately leaned in to kiss Hermione warmly.

The dark-haired man then turned his attention to her partner. "Lucius." He extended his hand firmly.

Lucius glanced down and paused briefly, not due to a reluctance to shake Potter's hand, but because he was taken aback at Harry's clear acceptance of them so publicly.

"Harry." He shook the hand warmly. "Good to see you."

"And you. Are you both well?"

Harry was smiling reassuringly at them, trying to cajole them into relaxation; he could sense their tension. A woman appeared at his side.

"Hello, Ginny," Hermione managed.

"You look gorgeous, Hermione." Ginny smiled softly.

"Thanks." Hermione shuffled a little and turned awkwardly to Lucius, not sure what to say. "Um ..."

"Mrs Potter. How charming you look tonight."

Ginny blushed and glanced hesitantly up at Lucius. "Thank you," she mumbled.

Lucius extended his hand to her. She stared at it for a moment in the same way Lucius had stared at her husband's earlier, but then she reached out and took it, and before she realised what she was doing, instinctively leaned into the man for a polite kiss of greeting.

Lucius started momentarily, but with his usual smooth aplomb, reached in and kissed Ginny once on each cheek.

There was a further moment of silence between the four of them.

"Right! Drink?" Harry's grin forced them to focus, and with an awkward laugh, Hermione asked for a glass of dry white.

At last, the silence around them began to be filled with muffled conversation. There was no doubting the topic, but now the great and good of wizarding society had the decency to at least pretend to ignore them.

Lucius guided Hermione over to the bar where Harry handed her her drink.

"That's the worst bit over," she muttered to them.

"You've done the right thing coming here tonight. Just get it over with. Let everyone know categorically. The more upfront you are about things, the less opportunity they have to gossip and spread rumours."

Hermione smiled, aware that no one had yet commented on the object gleaming on her finger.

"Hermione!" She recognised the low booms of Kingsley's voice behind her.

"Hello, Kingsley." He kissed her warmly before turning to Lucius.

"And Lucius ... good to see you here ... yes ... very good indeed. I am glad Hermione convinced you to get out - good of you to accompany her tonight after all the work she did for your library." Kingsley was studying Lucius curiously, but had clearly not realised the true nature of his and Hermione's relationship.

"Hermione's work has been extraordinary. I'm very fortunate to have had her in my home ... and now in my life." Lucius bent down and, in full view of the Minister for Magic, kissed Hermione on the lips. She couldn't help but return it.

Kingsley was silenced and let out an awkward laugh. He glanced at Hermione, but when he read the clear joy in her face his face broke out into a cautious grin. "I see ... Hermione, when you visited me the other day, you left me feeling as if all had not been said ... I think I now understand why."

Hermione laughed and raised her glass to her lips.

"Mione!" Ginny's voice had a sharp edge of shock to it.

Hermione turned to her. She was staring at her ring. Hermione saw no point in hiding it. She looked down and moved the glass to the other hand, revealing the ring to the group. Lucius curled his arm around her waist.

"Hermione and I are engaged to be married."

Kingsley coughed again. Harry downed his whiskey in one.

Silence once again threatened to destroy all they had built up since arriving.

"Well, I expect to be chief bridesmaid, but whatever you do, don't bloody make me wear pink!"

Hermione glanced at Ginny. Her friend was smiling across at her, an accepting glint in her eye. Hermione flung her arms around her dearest friend and clung onto her, whispering a private, "Thank you," against her ear.

The tension diffused and they all settled into easy conversation.

At length, Hermione and Lucius felt confident enough to stroll through the room. Many people came up to them, chatting animatedly and intimately, more out of sycophantic curiosity than anything, but it was easy and good-humoured none the less.

It was Hermione who saw Draco first. She spotted him on the other side of the room. He looked remarkably relaxed. His hand was clasped around the waist of his wife and he kept glancing at her with appreciative warmth.

But then he raised his eyes and saw them. The colour drained from his face briefly and Hermione saw him swallow hard. He whispered something to his wife and motioned her over.

Hermione hadn't seen Astoria since school and barely remembered her even then. It struck her what an open and pretty face she had, clearly radiant in the first flush of a revealed pregnancy. But as the two approached, it seemed that it was Astoria who looked the most nervous out of all of them.

"Draco." Lucius reached out to shake his son's hand before turning to Astoria. "My dear, I haven't had the chance to congratulate you in person. I can't tell you how wonderful your news is to me. Please let me know if there is anything I can do or get for you, you have only to say."

"Thank you, Lucius. It's nice to see you here." Astoria glanced meekly at him before turning her flushed face to Hermione. "Hello, Hermione. I can't have seen you since Hogwarts."

"That's right, Astoria. Congratulations on your fantastic news." She turned to her husband. "Hello, Draco."

"Hi."

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Lucius asked genuinely.

"Yes. Very good." He hesitated. "You?"

"It was an extraordinary Christmas. Draco ..." Draco glanced up at his father, his face still set straight. "Hermione and I have some news for you. We are going to be married."

The muscle in Draco's jaw worked frantically. He coiled himself in. If it had not been for the occasion and the sake of his wife, Hermione feared he may have struck his father.

Again, it was Astoria who stepped in. "Congratulations, both of you. What an amazing year this will be for the family." She reached in and embraced Hermione in a warm and tender hug, kissing her on the cheek. Hermione clasped her to her, grateful for the sudden onslaught of female solidarity.

Draco's chest rose and fell as he struggled to draw in his temper, but he did.

Lucius eyed his son coldly, resenting the aggression he had barely masked in front of Hermione. But then Draco's head dropped and he sniffed in, almost in defeat.

"Well, good luck to the both of you ... you're going to bloody need it!" He gripped his wife's hand and tried to pull her away, but Astoria resisted.

"You must come over to the house soon. It'll be good to catch up."

"As must you to the Manor. Some time in the next few weeks. Sunday lunch perhaps," suggested Lucius.

"I'll look forward to it." She smiled broadly before at last letting Draco pull her away.

Hermione glanced up at Lucius. He turned to her and cocked an eyebrow. Despite Draco's anticipated hostility, things had moved on. Draco clearly adored his wife and her attitude had been perfect. She could win him round.

They were brought out of their contemplation by music. The band had started; couples started to move onto the dance floor.

Hermione smiled. It had been so long since she had enjoyed an event like this, but she hung back, not presuming to inflict a public dance on Lucius.

She glanced around; it seemed Ron wasn't there, of that she was thankful. Harry and Ginny had taken to the floor. Hermione smiled as she looked at them, still clearly so happy together.

"Shall we?"

Lucius' voice took her by surprise. He was looking down at her with a faint smirk, his arm extended.

"Are you sure? We don't have to."

"How can I resist an opportunity to get my hands on you in that dress?"

She smiled and took his arm, allowing him to lead her onto the floor. The couples around them glanced curiously, but by now Hermione was on such a high that she almost welcomed their stares.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she felt him grip her waist hard, his fingers stroking the smooth silk of her dress over the flesh held so tightly inside. He cocked an eyebrow. "Very nice."

Lucius moved her smoothly. She looked nowhere but into his eyes, the room blurring around her as they danced. He pulled her hard against him, causing her desire to ignite immediately.

"Love you," she mouthed up to him.

"Love you," came the reply.

They danced long after many others had left. By the end of the evening the stares and whisperings had largely faded away. There would clearly be much material for the gossip pages of the Daily Prophet, but they'd survived the evening.

After saying their goodbyes, the two of them apparated, happy and tired, back to the Manor.

Hermione was surprised at how wonderful it was to be back home. The hall glowed with its usual splendour. She walked in and stood, letting her head fall back.

Hands ran around her waist and pulled her back against a firm chest.

"It was a wonderful evening."

"Not over yet." Lucius' head had dipped to her neck and was kissing and nibbling along it.

"We survived."

"Hmm."

"And you like my dress."

"Oh yes."

She laughed and spun away from him. "In that case, I'd better not take it off!"

Lucius stood apart from her, his lips curled up tantalisingly, but then he began to step towards her, his eyes taking in every inch of her as she stood, one hand on her hip, swaying a little, her body beckoning him ever closer. When he reached her, he slowly brought his hands to her waist, gripping hard as he had on the dance floor.

Moving his head to her ear again, he whispered gruffly against it, "Turn around."

She did, slowly, with a deeper undulation than was strictly necessary. When she had gone one full circle, he grabbed her suddenly again and pulled her into him. She could feel his arousal hard against her belly and rubbed against it, prompting a groan from him. His hands dropped to her arse and he grabbed tight, pulling it harder into him before stroking up and down the rise of it.

"My Hermione."

She smiled, her head falling back as desire engulfed her.

"Say it."

He was insistent.

"Yours," she groaned into the expanse of the hallway.

Throwing her head back to look at him, she raised a teasing eyebrow. "My Lucius."

"Yours ... always yours." One of his hands had reached back up to her breast and was plying it in desperate fingers, his voice reflecting his gruff urgency.

She pressed fully along him, her mouth close against his, but denying him her touch. He tried to capture her lips but she pulled back the merest fraction.

"Show me," came her hoarse, dark whisper.

She gave him her mouth at last, opening wide to be devoured by his searching tongue. He pushed her back, aiming to go upstairs, but they got no further than the bottom step. Hermione fell back onto it and immediately he had pushed her dress up to reveal her stockings and suspender belt. With a grunt of appreciative delight, he tore them down so that she was open and ready for him. Tossing aside his dress robes, he released himself quickly and with barely a second's preparation plunged fully into her.

He moved inside her powerfully, affirming his need in long hot strokes which she met and absorbed. Their pleasure rose mutually and rapidly.

"Do you feel that? Do you feel me? There is no doubt, no doubt, my darling, my love ... I'm yours, I'm yours forever ... nothing can change that ... nothing ... nothing ..."

He came hard, his eyes closing as pleasure burst out of him. Hermione's climax followed almost immediately and she gripped onto him as the room spun around her, an uncontrolled cry breaking the silence of the hall.

At length, Lucius carried her upstairs, still dressed in her golden gown, and after undressing each other, they fell into bed and slept.

-xoOox-

Time passed.

The Christmas tree had to come down, but they kept the star, which burned stronger than ever. It was placed on a plinth in the hallway as a moving ornament, casting its light forever into the Manor.

Winter moved into Spring.

They occasionally discussed the date of their marriage. People asked often, but they laughed off the question. There was no rush. They suspected that when they did marry it would be an instant decision which would be done quickly and privately.

Hermione got to know the house and the gardens well and spent many hours opening up the various rooms, exploring and discussing how best to use them with Lucius.

She spent a lot of time in the walled garden. After the frosts and snow of winter, it had been the first place she had chosen as a retreat. If Lucius ever lost her, he was sure to find her sitting on the bench in the garden, reading or writing. Sometimes she would reach out and he would join her, but at other times he was happy to hang back and watch her silently.

They spent a lot of time in the library. Hermione discovered a great deal of new magic through her further research of his volumes. She was always careful to replace any books she took down in their correct place. But high up on one shelf there always remained, deliberate and obvious, a space where once had sat a large book, a book gilded around the edges and with an intricate pattern of vine leaves adorning the cover.

Slowly, the house was opened up. Harry and Ginny would visit frequently, and eventually Draco and Astoria. Draco remained cool with Hermione but she sensed a gradual thaw, especially as he delighted in his wife's burgeoning pregnancy. It gave Hermione a strange satisfaction to see her bitter school enemy developing into such a genuine person through his love for his wife and unborn child.

In June Astoria was safely delivered of a little boy whom they named Scorpius. Lucius visited them at their home initially, reporting back with clear delight at how much of a Malfoy the little boy seemed already. Hermione had raised a wary eyebrow.

They started to come round to the Manor increasingly often, and Hermione discovered in Astoria a good friend.

As she and Lucius stood and waved them off one day, she spoke warmly, "He's such a gorgeous little baby. Draco's a good father ... and a surprisingly good husband."

"Well, he is my son, after all."

She dug him in the ribs.

Lucius stood on the steps of his family home. "It is good to have a child in the house again."

Hermione said nothing.

"Do you like children?" His question was thrown into the air almost flippantly. She didn't at first answer.

He held her round the waist. She gripped his hands tight. "Yes, I like children."

"Hm." He sniffed a little. "On the whole ... so do I."

With that he turned and led her inside. For the time being, that was all that was said.

Summer came: days filled with walks and picnics and discussions. And soon the long days grew shorter yet again.

It was a year since the day Hermione had first arrived at Malfoy Manor. A year since she had been guided into the sitting room to find Lucius Malfoy, alone and in darkness, beckoning her towards him.

Hermione had just come in from an early morning walk in the grounds. She replaced her coat on the stand, picked up the few leaves which had blown in with her, and stood now, as she had initially that first day, small, inconspicuous almost in the vast hallway. The clock ticked as it had then; the smells were much the same, although the air was less stale, now tinged with a light lemony perfume.

Her relationship with Lucius was inextricably linked to the house. She had grown to love it, and it had welcomed and warmed to her, wary at first, but growing in trust and confidence as with any initially hesitant friendship.

And now, as she stood within it, it breathed around her, and she with it.

She glanced up, questioning the very timbres. "Happy?"

At first it was still, but then came the answer, soft but certain.

"Happy."

Hermione smiled and dropped her head. At first, she was willing to believe it was indeed the house which had replied. But when strong hands encircled her waist, and firm lips sought out the cool skin of her neck, she knew the response had come from a far more tangible and tactile source.

As she dropped her head onto Lucius' shoulder, Hermione whispered back her own confirmation, her own truth, truth which was absorbed by everything around her.

"Happy."


End file.
